


Insufferable

by PeppyDragon



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Drama & Romance, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Eventual Romance, F/M, Love/Hate, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-12-29 22:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12095241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyDragon/pseuds/PeppyDragon
Summary: -Takes place during Dragon Age II, Act III || Brief events of Dragon Age: Inquisition-Cullen Rutherford cannot stand Marian Hawke. More accurately, he cannot stand how the smirking rogue has successfully bewitched him.  She is everything that has driven him mad his entire life - a cocky, impish mage-sympathizer with a blatant disregard for authority.  Even so, he finds himself alone with her after Guard Captain Aveline's wedding and gives in to her flirtations with more anger and desire than expected.





	1. The Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything! I try to update at least three times a week, so expect frequent new chapters. I'm not sure how long this story is going to go on, but I can tell you that's it's going to be insane amounts of smut. That being said -
> 
>  **Chapter Warning: Slightly Rough Smut.** The later sections might be slightly offensive to more sensitive readers. I don't find them offensive, but there will be forced sexual situations, some bondage, and some dubious consent. This chapter was just a nice little warm up. You have been warned! 
> 
> This chapter's inspiration song was ["Loud(y)," by Lewis Del Mar.](https://open.spotify.com/track/2Df8M8sO1zhC71p2XQRwpj) Please enjoy!

* * *

  

**Winter, 9:36 Dragon**

**Cullen Rutherford**

Being uncomfortable wasn't something Cullen Rutherford was unfamiliar with, but it had been a while since being exposed to the wolves so fully. Granted, those were Meredith's words circling his brain as he stepped into the estate, surprised by the stunning amount of people. He recognized most of them - members of the Guard and a few nobles who supported them. There was, of course, a gaggle of Aveline's friends near the front of the room, drinking heavily and laughing loudly. The brash dwarf seemed to have drawn everyone within earshot into a soaring tale of Marian Hawke's recent exploits.

"Braggarts, the lot of them," Meredith muttered under her breath, shaking her head. Her hair was loose and flowing around her like a silvery-blonde shroud, accenting the black tunic and breeches she had donned for the event. "Would it be too much to ask for wine near the entrance?"

Cullen thought about following her as she wandered into the main room, probably in search of alcohol. People seemed to part for the Knight-Commander in a way that Cullen would never understand. It was almost as if she had enraged bronto blood and everyone could feel it. But Cullen decided to push into the main room on his own and loiter by the wall, hidden and alone.

He didn't know anyone here - not really. He and Meredith had only arrived for formality's sake; Meredith was insistent that the Guard bend to the Templar Order and she hoped that being present at the Captain of the Guard's wedding would somehow make such a thing happen. It made no sense to Cullen, nor did her insistence that the Guard become an extension of their Order. But Meredith hadn't been making much sense for the past few years. Cullen was somewhat surprised she hadn't brought her sword along to the event and threatened to kill everyone if Aveline didn't submit.

He smiled ruefully. The joke somehow felt bitter. Possible.

A blonde elven servant arrived at his side, smiling pleasantly and offering him a tray laden with wine and ale. "Anything for you, messere?"

Cullen almost waved her away but caught Hawke's pirate companion wiggling her brows at him, and he let out a sigh. He grabbed a tankard of ale and, after a moment, a glass of wine in his other hand. The elf bobbed and departed, her soft voice receding.

Maker, Cullen wished he had his armor to protect him from this lot. Particularly for the pirate who was still watching him. Her gaze was somehow making him equally nervous and angry. He had taken an extra bump of lyrium before the party in an attempt to calm his nerves, but it seemed to be making him jittery, anxious. He gulped down the glass of wine before setting the empty chalice on a low table beside him, moving on to the ale.

The din of the room suddenly died down as Marian Hawke began descending the stairs, stopping in the middle and grinning down at all of them. Cullen felt his breath catch in his throat, all thought of the pirate and her crude expressions fading from his mind. All he could see was the dark-haired Champion of Kirkwall. She was wearing a low-cut silk dress that shimmered like blood around her slender body. The sleeves fluttered loosely to her wrists, coiling like a living thing. The tight bodice gave way to a flowing skirt that looked as thin as butterfly wings. She was breathtaking.

"Ladies, gentlemen," she began in that sing-song voice of hers, the impishness somehow making its way through her gentle smile, "friends, and family. We are all gathered here to see the joining of Aveline Vallen and Donnic Hendyr. For all of us who know the pair well, we are thrilled that this day has finally come - and that our days of playing matchmaker to get these two together are finally over."

Her core group of friends howled with laughter; the rest of the room laughed politely. Cullen was too busy watching Hawke's lips tilt up around her words, how her left hip and hand leaned gently against the stair railing. She ran a hand casually through her short onyx hair, pushing the jagged wisps out of her face. Cullen wasn't sure if he'd ever seen so much of her pale face before.

"Mother Constancia will be out shortly to begin the ceremony. Please save all well-wishes until after the ceremony, of course, and please make yourselves at home. Orana is serving drinks on the floor, but we have a wide array of food and wines in the kitchen, as well. If you need anything, do not hesitate to find me." She bowed her head and grinned before descending the rest of the stairs and melding into the crowd.

Cullen felt like he could finally breathe again and distracted himself with drinking down half of his tankard. He thought about heading into the kitchen for more drink and possibly food, but Meredith was probably still there - scaring people with her glower if Cullen had to guess.

Cullen hazarded a glance back at Hawke's friends and found the cheerful rogue among them, giggling with Varric, bent over to whisper something in his ear. His laugh bellowed through the room, and he pulled her against him, making her giggle, a hand going to the golden chest hair. Varric seemed to feel Cullen's eyes on him and glanced up, his smirk wilting a bit when he noticed the templar watching them. Cullen swallowed and looked away, the lyrium flaring inside of him and making something nasty curl in his belly.

He didn't like seeing the rogues' familiarity, their open flirtations. Cullen's possessive feelings for Hawke were entirely misplaced, but something was enchanting about Hawke. Cullen didn't need to say it, everyone knew; everyone who had ever seen her or spoken to her got drawn into her web. She was sweetness personified, she was joviality in human form, and she was as ruthless of a killing machine as her war hound that was currently trotting through the throngs looking for dropped food and head pets.

Cullen finished his tankard and set it on the table beside him, as well. He let out a shaky breath, tugging on his tunic. It was too tight around his broad shoulders, but there was little time for a visit to the tailor. Meredith had informed him of the event only four hours prior, and he had been woefully unprepared for it.

He glanced around for the serving girl but couldn't find her blonde head and sighed, looking everywhere besides the circle of friends toward the front of the room. Cullen had just been in the middle of vehemently thinking about all the ways he could get out of the party before anyone else could notice him when an arm slithered around his, a weight suddenly against him.

"Welcome, Knight-Captain. Your hands look depressingly empty."

Hawke was leaning on him, pushing a glass of wine toward his free hand. He took it even though it was half empty; the rim blushed with a hint of Hawke's lip stain.

"Serah Hawke," he murmured, swallowing thickly. "You have a... handsome home."

She snorted softly, still leaning on him companionably. "I haven't done much with it, but thank you. Where is your lovely date?"

"My...?"

"The Knight-Commander," she supplied helpfully. She took the glass back from him and sipped it before handing it back, smirking.

Cullen swallowed and said haltingly, "I believe she is in the kitchen if you wish to speak with her."

"Speak with her?" Hawke repeated before snorting. "Andraste's knickers, Cullen, why would I want to speak with her? She might turn me to stone just by looking at me." Her eyes dropped for a moment before rising, and she looked up at him through thick, dark lashes. "I was just hoping that we would have some time before she spirited you away to hunt apostates and abominations."

Cullen drank the rest of the wine in the chalice and put it down on the table beside him. The alcohol was beginning to flame his insides pleasantly; based on the flush to Hawke's cheeks, she had already had quite a bit of wine, herself. She raised her free hand in the air, her sleeve slipping down the slender, muscled appendage as she did. Cullen tried not to trace the cords of muscle under her pale skin, the glittering candle- and torch-light making it seem translucent. "What-" he began to ask but was interrupted by the blonde serving girl.

"Mistress," she bobbed, her full tray sliding toward them. "Messere," she added to Cullen bashfully.

"If you could leave the entire tray right here," Hawke murmured, motioning to the low table. "Thank you, Orana."

"Of course, mistress," the elf breathed, sliding the seven chalices and two mugs of ale onto the table, collecting their empties. She slipped back into the crowd, no doubt heading to the kitchen to replenish her tray.

Hawke finally pulled her arm out of Cullen's and leaned around him to grab a glass of wine. "So," she began, turning slightly to look up at him easier, "was I right?"

"Right?" he repeated. He always felt like a dolt around Hawke - he wasn't sure if it was her wit or her beauty that befuddled him so much. Or, more likely, if she simply used her words to cause as much confusion as possible.

"That, once your duty here has completed, you will be whisked away by Meredith to hunt down a typically innocent, placid mage pushed too far?" she murmured, lips curving up around the edges of her chalice.

Cullen felt the hot, angry thing in his belly stoke again. She mocked them at every turn - mocked the Order who tried to protect the people of Kirkwall. They had made mistakes in the past. Meredith had overreacted at times. Maker's breath, Cullen had overreacted before. But so had Hawke. So had all of her companions and friends.

No one in Kirkwall was innocent or placid - not for long.

Hawke finished her chalice and reached for a fresh one. "What's wrong, Knight-Captain? Are you feeling naked without your armor? Without your sword?"

"Hawke," he growled warningly. His fists were clenching. He wanted nothing more than to grab her by the throat and push her against the wall, to squeeze until her rasping breath was the only noise he could hear. He wanted to cover her mouth with his, to rip the thin, silky dress from her body and force himself upon her.

Cullen let out a small wheeze as his cock twitched at the mental image of Hawke straining beneath him, struggling. He grabbed a tankard of ale and downed it, trying valiantly to wipe the imagines from his mind. People surrounded him; Meredith included, lurking somewhere in the throng. Not to mention he was at a wedding. Andraste wept, this was not the time or the place for -

"My, my, Knight-Captain Rutherford at a loss for words?" Hawke teased just as Mother Constancia emerged at the railing on the second floor, beginning the ceremony with her strong, vibrant voice.

"We are all Children in the eyes of the Maker," she crowed, demanding attention from all on the main floor.

Hawke turned to face the front, appearing to have forgotten her favorite game of goading Cullen. He took a deep breath, thankful for a reprieve, and switched his empty mug for the other full one. He had downed half of it by the time Mother Constancia had finished speaking, and Aveline, dressed in a lovely, conservative white dress emerged. Her soon-to-be husband joined her, and they took one another's hands, murmuring their vows in halting voices.

Hawke leaned back into Cullen, her ass pressing into his breeches. Cullen nearly sputtered on his ale, trying to back away. He was against the wall, though, and had nowhere to move unless he pushed Hawke off of him. Unwilling to cause a scene at the Guard Captain's wedding, he remained still and breathed through his mouth, trying to contain the ragged desire that kept stuttering through his body.

She moved slightly, her backside pressing back into him and away, into him and away. It took Cullen a moment to realize she was doing it on purpose. Her friend's wedding was happening right in front of them, and she was rubbing herself over his cock in the middle of it. She was acting like a dog in heat and, _Maker help him,_ Cullen couldn't think of much else than her naked and struggling against him.

He put the tankard down and gripped her hips tightly in his fingers, stilling her as his blunt nails dug into the thin material of her dress. She calmed for a moment, her body seeming to shudder in delight at the touch before her hips began to circle again. She moved agonizingly slow as not to bring attention to them, but those around them were too entranced with the vows even to glance their way.

Hawke leaned back into him harder, her head falling to his chest. She tilted her face up to him, and her smirk was infuriating. "I knew you liked me, Rutherford."

"I despise you, Hawke," he returned, knowing she would hear both the truth and lie in that statement.

She raised an eyebrow and rubbed across his hardening cock again, making him hiss softly and tighten his grip on her hips. "Hawke." It was a warning, a warning that she seemed intent to ignore. She pulled away from him only enough that one of her hands slid behind her back, caressing over the growing bulge in his breeches. Cullen sucked in a breath sharply and did his best to stare straight ahead, to watch the wedding as expected. He released her hips and clenched his fists, hoping she would take the hint and stop tormenting him.

But it was Marian Hawke who had him in her sights, and she so rarely let go of her prey until she was sated. Her hand kept massaging across him, slow and methodical, and Cullen softly gasped when she squeezed him through his breeches.

There was a sudden burst of noise and Cullen shuddered with the sudden fear of being caught with the Champion of Kirkwall's hand on his dick. She pulled away and began cheering, and Cullen realized then that the Guard-Captain was kissing her husband and everyone was shouting their joy to the upper floor.

Cullen clapped awkwardly, willing his erection to disappear before anyone turned to leave or notice him. He glanced toward the kitchen and blanched when he saw Meredith. She didn't seem to be looking at him and was instead scoffing at the happy couple. The sight of her still spurred a dark panic inside of him regardless. It was enough for his cock to begin flagging immediately.

Some people started to file out, but most remained. As the people began to either move toward the door or toward the couple descending the stairs, Meridith finally glanced Cullen's way. She narrowed her eyes at how close Marian Hawke was standing to Cullen and began to move toward them.

"Meredith," Cullen warned Hawke as she turned her smirk onto him. "Don't be stupid, Hawke. She wants an excuse to throw you in a cell."

Hawke chuckled, grabbing two fresh chalices of wine, and turned in time to smile at Meredith. "Knight-Commander, welcome. I was so pleased to hear you were able to make it." She offered one of the chalices to Meredith, who glanced at the glass and sneered. "I promise I haven't poisoned it," Hawke added with a small quirk of her full lips. "Or have I?"

Cullen groaned, running a hand over his face. She was going to get herself killed.

But not that night, evidently, because Meredith murmured, "Champion. You have a lovely home and put on an adequate wedding. Even so, I must get back to work. I hope you will pass along my congratulations to the Guard-Captain?"

"Of course, Knight-Commander. Take some food with you, if you'd like. I've heard the night patrols are arduous."

Meredith's left brow twitched, switching from narrowing to arching. "And where have you heard this?"

 _Don't say it, Hawke. Don't_ -

"Knight-Captain Rutherford has been regaling me with tales of your heroism," Hawke replied smoothly, layering the charm on each syllable. Cullen knew - and was sure Hawke knew - that charm did nothing for the woman in front of them. Even so, Hawke loved her games. "We wouldn't want our city's protector getting peckish on the job."

Meredith sighed and turned her gaze from the Champion to Cullen. "I will see you tomorrow evening?"

"Of course, Knight-Commander," he replied quickly.

She nodded and glanced at them, eyes narrowed. She sensed something. Of course she sensed something; the woman was able to sniff out fraternization from a mile off. "Have a pleasant evening, Rutherford. Hawke," she added before turning and leaving, her hair slithering over her shoulders as she departed, swaying in the breeze from her stride.

When Meredith had left the mansion, Hawke snorted, finishing both glasses of wine. "I am not sure if you are strong willed or weak willed to keep working with that unbearable woman."

"Hawke." Another growled warning which the woman seemed intent on ignoring.

"So, you have the evening free? And tomorrow morning - perfect timing. As it happens, I have the night and morning free, as well." Her lips ticked up into that smile of hers that made his fists clench.

"I am not sure what you are insinuating."

She puffed out an amused breath, setting the empty chalices on the low table. Maker, they had drunk so much in such a short time. Hawke didn't seem affected, though; from what Cullen had heard, she was able to wrack up sovereign-high tabs most nights at the Hanged Man. How the woman wasn't dead from alcohol poisoning or at least showing physical signs of alcoholism, Cullen would never know.

"Have a good night, Knight-Captain," she said suddenly with her cheeky grin, reaching out to squeeze his hand before sliding into the dwindling crowd. She made her way to her group of friends and received a welcome that involved warm embraces and cheek-kisses from Donnic and Aveline. She slid back from the couple, and Varric's hand was suddenly on the small of her back. She leaned into her dwarven friend and Cullen swallowed past the anger coiling inside of him.

What was the unendurable woman doing to him?

Cullen needed to get away from her, needed not to see her. More accurately, he needed not to see her dwarven friend's hand slowly slipping toward Hawke's ass. He heard her shout in surprise as he passed into the kitchen, thundering, "Varric! Andraste's tits, we're at a wedding!"

Cullen smirked at that as he went to the long table that was laden with meats, cheeses, and more bread than he could fathom. Being at a wedding hadn't seemed to bother her when she'd rubbed his cock during her friends' vows.

There were three kinds of cakes on the counter surrounded by wine and whiskey bottles. Cullen helped himself to a tankard and more whiskey than advisable, still trying to dampen the lyrium jitters that were running through him. He poked through the food, frowning at the jellied meats which the Free Marchers adored so much. As a Fereldan, he would never understand the allure of jellied anything. Meat, especially, should be left well enough alone.

He had spent more time than he cared to admit loitering in the kitchen, drinking and slicing pieces of lamb from the shank. He wasn't sure how late it was when Hawke sauntered in, smiling sloppily at him. She had begun to show signs of drunkness, but she wasn't slurring as she said, "I knew you wanted an encore."

Cullen thought of leaving, thought of getting out of the estate before Hawke could cross the room and ensnare him again. But he didn't. His feet planted and his gaze held hers, daring her. "An encore would suggest something happened already, serah."

She laughed delightedly and came to a stop just in front of him, putting all of her weight on one leg, her hip jutting toward him. If he wanted to, he could reach out and touch the too soft, too thin material of her dress. He wanted to, very much, but he was able to restrain himself. Instead, he leveled a wilting glare on the rogue in front of him, waiting.

She pursed her grin and tilted her head to the side. "You're the last one, Rutherford. Our blushing newlyweds left an hour ago, and everyone else began to filter out soon after. I assumed you'd left, too, but here you are."

"I was just thinking of going," he murmured, placing a piece of the sawn off lamb into his mouth.

"No you weren't," she whispered, watching him put the meat between his lips. Her pupils were dark and wide, almost eclipsing her pale irises. "I think you were waiting for me to come collect you."

"Collect me?" he repeated with a snort. He finished his stein of whiskey, grimacing at the last dregs, and began to walk around her. "Good night, Champion."

She reached out, her hand closing around his wrist. Cullen felt the electricity of her touch and swallowed, turning to her sharply. "Don't," she murmured. "You want to stay. So stay."

"I would like nothing less than lingering another minute," he lied. He knew Hawke could see through him, but he also knew that nothing good could come from remaining in her estate. If Cullen could wound her enough to give him a few moments, he would be able to tug free of whatever spell she was casting on him.

She released his wrist, much to his surprise, her smile widening as she crossed her arms under her chest. Her breasts pushed up against the deep dip of her collar, and his breath caught. She wasn't wearing a binding below the dress. He wondered, briefly, if she was wearing _anything_ beneath it.

Cullen's dick was hardening, and he let out a frustrated growl, turning toward the doorway. He needed to get out. He needed to get to the barracks, take himself in hand, and release the urges she kept placing within him. He made it to the doorway before he heard the soft moan behind him. His blood ran cold for a moment as his heart stuttered. He had to get out.

But he turned instead and found her leaning against the table, a hand running over her breasts, flicking the nipples he couldn't see but imagined were hard pebbles. His mouth was watering with the want to suck them between his lips, to bite her breasts and make her cry out.

"Go if you want to go," she whispered, her voice layered with desire as she touched herself. Her hand slid over the curve of her abdomen, the muscles there, pressing into the apex of her legs through her dress and groaning.

Cullen swallowed again, turning and fleeing. He made it to the front door before his shaking hands refused to reach for the knob. Clenching them and grinding his teeth past the desire flaring within him, Cullen smashed his fist into the stone wall. The pain focused him, so he did it again and again. There was a faint red blush on his knuckles by the time he stopped and turned, heading back into the kitchen.

He found Hawke sitting on the table, legs spread and stretching the dress around them, smirking. She knew he would come back. She knew she had played him like a lute and he wouldn't be able to walk away from her.

The rage was back as he strode toward her. She opened her mouth, probably to mock him, probably to tease him, but he grabbed her hair in one hand and pulled her roughly into a kiss. His teeth gnashed down on her lower lip, harder than he should have, but her breathy groan spurred him on. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, thrusting against hers, tasting the sharp tang of wine and whiskey there. Her lips hungrily fought back against his, pressing in hard and fast, her hands sliding up to his neck and squeezing slightly.

He pulled back, grabbing her wrists in one hand and shoving them to the side. "No," he said hotly.

She smirked. "You can rough me up, but I can't return to favor?"

He laughed sharply. "This is nothing. Champion. Nothing compared to what I want to do to you."

Her eyes narrowed at the challenge, her smile darkening. "Why Knight-Captain. And here I thought you were such a bore."

He grabbed her neck and held her in place, squeezing tightly, releasing her wrists with his other hand and shoving the neck of her dress down, exposing her breasts to the cool air of the kitchen. He had been right - her nipples were hard peaks begging to be sucked, nestled in the midst of supple breasts. He wanted nothing more than to delve into them but instead returned to her lips, trailing his teeth from her lower lip to her jaw, biting her clavicle sharply and loving the way she arched into him, a raspy groan slipping from her restricted throat. He bit down a little harder, his free hand sliding to her breasts, squeezing the soft flesh sharply.

Hawke had begun to rock her hips on the table, leaning back slightly and parting her legs as far as they could go, breathy pants slipping from her mouth. "Harder," she goaded him, and his hand tightened on her throat, eliciting a tiny squeal.

Cullen released her throat, and she grumbled, shifting irritably until his hands found her hips. He tugged her closer to the edge of the table, bunching her skirts up to her knees and delving a hand into the darkness beneath the silk. His hand swatted her thighs apart wider, but the dress strained in protest. He growled, unable to help his irritation, and tore the skirt up the middle.

"Hey!" Hawke snapped, but her protests died when his hand delved between her legs, sliding across the slick folds and roughly tweaking the swollen nub at her apex. His thumb maintained its brutal pressure on her clitoris as a finger slid into her passage without warning or care at how tight she was, at how she yelped at the sudden intrusion. His finger fucked her hard and fast, a second sliding in too soon and eliciting a sharp cry of pain from the woman.

He didn't stop and instead shoved his lips back to hers, the bruising kiss taking her protests with it. She was soon groaning into his mouth, her hips swiveling, shoving herself against his maddening pace inside of her. He pulled back roughly. "Stay still," he ordered.

She smirked, lips swollen and dark. "Make me."

He pulled his hand free and grabbed her by the hips, pulling her from the table and turning her around. He slammed her into the table, a shout slipping from her mouth as her ribs hit the wood. She'd taken worst abuses from enemies in Lowtown, of course, but Cullen almost felt sorry for her at that moment.

It faded when she turned her head, pressing her ass up and into him, muttering, "What is it, Knight-Captain? Do you only know how to force yourself on mages?"

That did it. Cullen slammed his palm against her ass, making her jolt and yell. He roughly tugged her skirt up around her hips, admiring the perfect swell of her ass, her shapely hips, and thighs. Cullen hit her again, admiring the dark pink handprint blossoming on her milky skin. She was pressing back into his hand, begging for more, but he was more interested in delving into her. He untied his breeches, pushing the leather down his legs. His smalls followed them closely, and his already erect cock was straining to be inside her. He guided himself between her legs, bumping his way around her unfamiliar body before he found her already abused entrance. His tip pressed against the ring of muscles, smoothing around the entrance. "Tell me you want it," he breathed.

She chuckled, turning her face toward him. She couldn't see him clearly from her angle, but he could recognize the arousal and amusement on her face. "Really, Cullen? You are this petty that you need-"

He grabbed her hair with his free hand, gripping cruelly and tugging. She yelped, and he leaned down to growl in her ear, "You will only make things worse. Now you need to beg me." He pulled again, and her eyelid fluttered down over the one eye he could see.

"Please," she bit out roughly.

Cullen's hand dropped from his cock, and his fingers shoved into her brutally, nails scraping along the smooth walls of her cunt. "Not good enough, Champion."

She was gasping, pulling against his grip on her hair. He yanked her head back, her neck yielding with the motion, and she wheezed, "Cullen... _fuck."_

"Yes, Hawke?" he breathed.

"Fuck me," she bit out. "Cullen, please? Please, I need-"

Cullen withdrew his hand, grasping his cock and pumping it a few times to get it harder. He shoved himself between her legs, not even concerned that he might tear her with his brutish entry. Hawke gasped and sobbed past the pain and desire she was no doubt caught between, her back bowing as he slammed into her. Cullen's hand fell from his hair, both firsts bracing himself on the table as he drove into her. The wet sounds of their skin slapping together was loud, obscene. The noise was enough to draw the servants if they had been nearby.

Hawke's breath was coming out faster, her hips losing their tempo. She was close, Cullen realized, and he smirked at his ability to bring her so close so quickly. He slowed slightly, pushing in deeper to coax her orgasm, but she snapped, "Going sweet on me so soon, Knight-Captain?"

He snarled, pulling her up, her body flush against his. He wrapped an arm around her neck, tightening just enough to make her gag softly, his pace quickening again. Hawke was gasping and shuddering against him, her panting giving way to loud moans that masked the sound of their bodies thrusting together.

"Beg me for it."

Hawke's voice grated against his arm. "Cullen, please."

"Please what?" he barked.

"Let me come," she begged, and she finally sounded like she meant it - like she was asking him for mercy. "Cullen, please? _Knight-Captain._ Please?"

His title had always been one of pride until recently - until Meredith had begun her insane policing of everyone. But hearing it from her lips, so reverently, so full of longing, it made a chill pass through his spine. His free hand raked across her ribs, grabbing a breast and squeezing the nipple. "Your Knight-Captain is ordering you to release. Now."

"I can't-" she panted frantically.

Cullen tightened his hold on her neck and squeezed her nipple harder. She was sent crashing over the edge, a scream ripping from her throat as she trembled, body stiffening and relaxing repeatedly. He slowed his hips' assault on her body to allow her to come down from the orgasm, her body twitching in his arms.

When she finally settled, sagging against him and breathing harshly, he released her neck and breast. He pulled out of her before turning her slowly. He picked her up by the hips and placed her on the table, leaning her back on the wood and positioning himself between her legs again. He watched her heavy-lidded eyes meet his as he tenderly pressed himself into her.

She grinned, but the expression was softer than before. "Gentle, Knight-Captain? And here I thought you despised me."

"I do," he lied again, "now shut up." Cullen's mouth lowered to her breasts as he leisurely stroked himself inside of her. Her hands surprised him by sliding into his hair, caressing as her delicate moans began to pick up again.

He hadn't expected the softness when the night had started to deteriorate into a lust-filled desire to hurt her, to make the smirk drop from her perfect lips. And while he hadn't hurt her as much as he had hungered to, it was enough. He had made her cry and beg - now he wanted to reward her.

Or maybe, in some part of himself, he had wanted to reward himself.

He felt his body beginning to tremble with the telltale shudders of his orgasm building. His abdomen clenched, the fire in his belly flaming. A soft pain was building at the base of his spine, his release begging to slip free. He came in a rush, head falling to her chest as he gasped for breath. Her hands continued to smooth through his hair as his blank mind slowly began to come back to him. He pulled off of her and out of her, his flagging cock dripping with their combined fluids. He didn't bother cleaning up - he wanted to keep a piece of her with him for a little longer. He pulled his smalls and breeches back into place, fingers trembling on the laces.

Hawke sat up gingerly, her hands slipping to his breeches and tying them quickly. Her fingers slid up his abdomen to his chest, coming to rest on his shoulders. She wasn't smirking; her smile was soft and compassionate. "Well, Knight-Captain."

"Well, Champion." He watched her, unsure what she wanted. What he wanted. He cleared his throat, and she bit her lower lip, their eyes never leaving one another. "I should go."

Hawke nodded. She didn't let a single emotion betray her; she could have been pleased or displeased, and Cullen would have never known. "Good night, then, messere."

He swallowed. "Good night, serah." He pulled back from her, and her hands slipped from his shoulders to his chest and then to her bared thighs.

As Cullen made it to the doorway of the kitchen, Hawke called out, "If you're ever in Hightown and needing someone else to harass - you know, other than the mages - then come around. I could dress up if you'd like. Buy a nice big stick; we can pretend it's a staff."

Cullen couldn't help the small smile that stretched his lips. She was insufferable. He said nothing as he left her estate, hoping that his silence made it impossible for her to sleep; hoping that all she would think about when she touched herself was his hand around her throat and his cock stretching her.

He wanted her to go as weak in the knees when she saw him as he would each time he saw her. And see her he would. He had another night off in three days' time and knew where he wanted to spend it. Part of him wondered if he should bring a large stick with him - just to see her smirk widen.

Insufferable woman.


	2. The Hanged Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
> 
>  **Chapter Warnings: Smut, slight dubious consent.** We're still ramping up, folks, I promise.
> 
> This chapter's song inspiration is ["S.O.B.," by Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats.](https://open.spotify.com/track/45Z9SQmHi1nCIevliOVtaz) Please enjoy!

* * *

 

 

**Cullen Rutherford**

 

"Oh, messere! If you're looking for Mistress Hawke, I am afraid she is out this evening."

Cullen sighed, running a hand through his hair impatiently. He wasn't entirely sure if Hawke's dwarven steward was acting dodgy to protect his mistress from a potential Templar Order inquiry, or if he acted that way regularly. Trying not to think of it further, Cullen grumbled, "Is she planning on coming back?"

"Well, I... I am not sure! The mistress is always home eventually, but that might be many hours from now." The dwarf looked concerned. "Is something the matter? Did something happen to her sister? Her sister is in the Gallows, you know. Of course you know, you are one of the handlers!"

Cullen interrupted before he could lose his temper. "Her sister is fine, as far as I am aware. I just wished to speak with Hawke." Cullen glanced around the darkening square. Most people had retired to their homes for late dinners and reading by the fire. He did not need to fret about anyone seeing him, but he still worried he would get caught skulking around the Champion's home. If someone did see him, if it somehow got back to Meredith... Cullen didn't want to think about that possibility.

"Oh! Well, if it's just words you are looking for, messere, you can probably find her at the Hanged Man."

"The Hanged Man?" Cullen repeated. How in Maker's name had he not thought of that himself? She was there most nights, according to the gossip. She was a Champion of the People, after all, slumming with the dregs of society on the regular.

"It's Wicked Grace night," the dwarf supplied as if the information was well-known. Granted, it would be to Marian Hawke's friends. But Cullen wasn't her friend. Cullen was far from her friend.

"Wicked Grace night," Cullen repeated, shaking his head slightly. "How had I forgotten?" He did not offer the dwarf any goodbyes before turning his path toward Lowtown, already anticipating at least one uncomfortable situation to arise when he entered the bar.

 

* * *

 

To his surprise, there was not a _single_ uncomfortable situation when he pushed open the door of the Hanged Man. There were three. The first was that the bartender shouted, "When will you templars figure it out? We don't harbor any apostates here!"

Cullen wasn't even wearing his uniform, and he'd never been one of the templars who performed random checks on the bar's staff and occupants. He wasn't sure how the bartender even knew who he was, but the man's anger was enough to surprise Cullen. "I am not here on business," he said snapped back, feeling strangely defensive.

The second uncomfortable situation happened immediately after. Cullen glanced to his right, met with wide eyes and sputtered words of, _Maker, Devin, I told you we shouldn't come in!_  Even if Cullen hadn't recognized their faces, their shining armor was enough to remind him that these were some of his newest recruits. The three men were watching him with thinly veiled terror, probably assuming he was there to punish them.

Cullen narrowed his eyes at the group. "Are you three not on Darktown's patrol tonight?" he growled.

"Uh, y-yes, Knight-C-Captain," one stammered, pushing his tankard away and getting to his feet quickly. "We were... we were just checking the bar before heading to our rotation!"

Cullen impatiently glanced between them all. "You are lucky it wasn't the Knight-Commander entering here now. Be gone with you lot and don't let it happen again."

The recruits scurried off to their post and Cullen's eyes rose to meet his third uncomfortable situation. Hawke's entire table on the far side of the room was watching him with varying states of pleasure. Hawke looked particularly amused, her tankard hovering halfway to her mouth. They stared at one another for longer than Cullen cared for before Hawke called out, "Hey, Corff! Get this man a damn drink." Turning her gaze back to Cullen, she batted her eyes. "I know I'm pretty, Rutherford, but maybe you could stop staring long enough to pull up a chair?"

Cullen swallowed his annoyance and walked toward their table. The bar was busy, and there were no chairs free that Cullen could see. He glanced around, anger flaring up before the pirate unfurled her crossed legs. "You can come sit on my lap, love," Isabela winked at him, patting her ample, shapely thighs.

"Down, girl," Varric called, smirking. "I think Curly is only into women who can spit fire. Or ice. Maybe even lightening."  Fenris made a disgusted noise, turning his attention back to his cards.

"Oh, I have some magic in these fingers," Isabela smirked.  "Hawke knows what I'm talking about."

Hawke chuckled, sliding out of her chair and motioning for Cullen to sit in it. When he hesitated, she raised an eyebrow. "Unless you'd rather join Isabela? I will warn you, though, that she is quite keen on showing off her _dexterity_." Isabela flexed her fingers as if to confirm the statement.

Cullen kept the smirk from his lips, but only barely. He sat in the newly vacant seat, knowing that Hawke was going to slide onto his lap. Cullen would spend an hour, maybe two, enduring every twitch of her body against his, each time she wiggled and goaded his cock to stand at attention. And then she would allow him to walk her home where he would claim her again. And again. He was curious just how limber and dexterous she was and how far he could bend her over the railing that had hosted her friends' wedding earlier that week.

To his surprise and irritation, she did not sit on his lap; she sat on Varric's. The dwarf made a great show of pretending she was crushing him with her slender body before hooking his arms around her, pulling her into him. Her eyes never left Cullen's as she sipped from her tankard, pressing herself into the dwarf. His face was practically on her tits, and the sight made Cullen's blood boil.

Hand after hand of Wicked Grace passed, and Cullen's fingers had begun to shake with rage when Hawke would duck her head down to whisper something in Varric's ear. Cullen watched as the dwarf's hand slowly moved further up her thigh as the night progressed. He watched as Hawke smirked but said nothing.

By the time the others began to drift away, Hawke had yawned and stretched. "Heading to bed?" she asked Varric.

"Not yet. Still have those letters to send to Orzammar, remember? The ones you keep interrupting?" Varric's tone was low, gravelly, affectionate. Cullen hated it. "You need the room?"

"No, and you should think about charging me rent with how often I share your bed." She glanced at Cullen pointedly, at the heat in his gaze. She grinned. "But if I could use your chamber pot, I would be most appreciative. Curse this tiny bladder!"

Varric pushed her off of his lap and shoved her ass to get her moving. "You don't have a tiny bladder, sweetheart; you have a drinking problem."

Hawke's giggle was childish, high and trilling, as she turned the corner and walked up the steps toward Varric's room. Cullen excused himself from the table to speak to Corff, requesting a room. The bartender raised an eyebrow at him but took his money willingly enough, passing a key to him. Cullen nodded a good night to Varric, who was watching him curiously, and ascended the stairs.

Hawke was leaving the room directly in front of the steps as Cullen made it to the top. Her smile widened as she swayed slightly, leaning back on her hips, chest pressing out against her tunic. "Well, well. How can I help you tonight, Knight-Captain?"

"You enjoy tormenting me." It wasn't a question, but the woman nodded nonchalantly anyway.

"I do, I sincerely do. You get this magnificent crease right here," Hawke murmured, stepping toward him and running a slender finger between his brows. "Right there. It's like a goddamn canyon on your face, Rutherford."

Cullen grabbed her hand and pushed her up against the wall beside Varric's door, pulling her backside into him. His breath quickened, fluffing her hair with each unsteady puff as he listened to the noises from the bar below them. Laughter, something like sobbing, and the sound of a sea chantey, shouted out from the throats of at least four shit-faced patrons.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she teased softly. The side of her face that wasn't against the wall smirked at him. "About how you came here hoping for a quick fuck and instead had to suffer watching me with someone else?"

"I wasn't here for you," he snapped.

She laughed, and he grabbed her hair, pressing her head into the wooden wall harder. She let out a small moan and whispered, "It would be more believable if your dick weren't stabbing me in the ass."

"Do you ever stop talking?"

"Rarely. I usually need something in my mouth to shut me up," Hawke added, voice dipping seductively. She shoved herself against him, and Cullen stumbled back, startled by her strength. It was now evident that the rogue had more going for her than her looks and dangerous friends. She could get free from his loose grips if she wanted to; the realization made his blood boil with want. The thought of her fighting him was somehow more desirable than her submission.

Hawke lowered herself to her knees and grinned at him, reaching out to tug him back toward her. Her fingers made swift work of his breeches, and she shoved his smalls away. She wasted no time in wrapping her lips around his cock, taking him in deeply and with fervor. Cullen gasped hotly, bracing himself against the wall with his hands, head lolling onto one bicep.

Hawke was a noisy partner, as Cullen already knew. She slurped at his cock between sucking and licking, her tongue curling around his shaft and up to his tip before taking him back into her mouth and throat. She moaned appreciatively when his hips bucked into her, even as her throat constricted with each small gag. He was close, his need washing over him like a tidal wave, when she suddenly pulled back from his cock and stood, leaning against the wall, her nose nearly brushing his.

"What are you doing?" he growled, cock twitching with longing.

She smirked at him. "You didn't think I would make it that easy for you, did you?" She began to slide under his arm, to walk away, but he grabbed her arm roughly and shoved her back into the wall, pinning her in place by gripping her throat in his free hand. The other moved down from her wrist to her breeches, struggling with the ties one-handed. "Do this," he hissed. "Now."

She chuckled and looked as if she was going to fight him. But her fingers decided to obey his orders, and they began untying her breeches. Painfully slow. Cullen's hand tightened around her throat, and she croaked, eyes widening. "Do not tempt me, Champion."

Her fingers hesitated on the ties before falling away completely. "I like tempting mage hunters, Rutherford. You're all so weak-willed when it comes to women; it makes you easier to manipulate. Easier to overpower."

Cullen grabbed the front of her tunic, pulling her forward before shoving her back into the wall. Her eyes were dark, her pupils blown wide. She loved the abuse. She wanted him to hurt her. He shoved her into the wall a second time, and her knees seemed to go weak, her body shuddering and sagging against the wood. "Untie them or Andraste help me."

He didn't need to finish the threat; her fingers returned to the breeches and finished with the strings, shoving the leather down as far as she could. She wasn't wearing smalls and Cullen was startled enough to wonder if she ever did. He was distracted by the glimmering wetness on her thighs, though, and the smell of her arousal. His free hand shoved between her legs with little pretense, and she groaned. She drenched his hand immediately, and Cullen floundered, confused. Being completely encompassed by her slick warmth was momentarily puzzling.

They stood like that for a moment before Hawke chuckled breathlessly. "What is it, Rutherford? Unwilling victims are the only ones you can get off to?"

It happened so fast that he didn't know his hand had raised from her dripping sex to her face. The loud crack of his hand meeting her cheek echoed through the empty hall. Hawke balked, her wide eyes blinking in surprise. They stared at one another, not speaking, not even breathing, before Hawke whispered, "Again."

Cullen swallowed. He'd never hit a woman. In fact, he'd never struck anyone across the face before. It was surprising, he supposed, being a templar and not hitting people; he had always felt that those kinds of punishments only built resentment. But here he was, standing with his pants down around his ankles, hitting the woman whose mouth had just been around his cock.

"Cullen, _Maker's breath_ , hit me again," she snapped, breaking him out of his confusion. His hand hit her cheek a second time, right on the reddened spot where her fluids were glittering. Hawke frowned at him. "That was nothing. Do you abuse your mages this unconvincingly?"

He hated her. He hated her so much. Cullen hit her again, harder, and the motion snapped her head to the side, a whimper sliding from her parted lips. He felt her ragged breaths through the hand still securing her neck.

Hawke slipped one of her hands between her thighs. Before Cullen could snatch it away, she removed it and smoothed it over his cock. He gasped as her slick fingers stroked his length, feeling it harden and lengthen in her warm, wet hand. She was smirking at him, and Cullen wanted nothing more than to shove her face into the wall so he wouldn't have to see it. 

He released her neck and pushed his boot down on her pooled leathers, forcing them over her boots and off of her. Cullen hoisted her up the wall by her thighs, her legs circled his waist and, after a bit of repositioning and bumping, he shoved himself into her. He pinned her to the wall with his bulk, listening to her voice grate past her restricted diaphragm. Her face was flushing from the lack of airflow, but she was still breathing so he didn't care. Cullen's head fell to her neck, biting down on her skin, listening to her shout raspily to the ceiling.

And then a voice called out behind them. "Maker's fucking ballsack, Hawke. Really?"

Cullen and Hawke's heads snapped around in unison to find Varric Tethras watching them with a mix of surprise and displeasure. Cullen didn't bother slowing his maddening pace as he shoved into the woman, his hands gripping into her thighs and making her groan. "Varric," she greeted with a clumsy grin. Cullen didn't want to hear the dwarf's name on Hawke's breath, especially when Cullen was buried deep inside of her. He pressed into her a little harder, her smile fading and her voice croaking.

Varric shook his head, an astounded smile on his face before he waved them off. "Clean up when you're done, I'd hate for Norah to find out what she's scraping off of the wall tomorrow." He slipped into his room, closing the door quietly and leaving them to it.

"I am flattered, Knight-Captain," she breathed, leaning her face in so that her lips brushed his ear with each word. "You're jealous."

"What do I have to be jealous of?" he hissed, shoving into her a little harder. She shouted softly, back sliding up the rough wall. Cullen viciously hoped that she would have to pick splinters from her skin for weeks.

Hawke didn't answer, but she smirked. Cullen growled into her throat as he bit down again, jaws gnashing. He tasted blood in his mouth as Hawke struggled, gasping. "Cullen, stop," she said suddenly, trying to pull her neck from his teeth. "Andraste's tits, Cullen! Stop!"

He pulled back finally, her blood wetting his lower lip, and he pulled out of her. She slid down the wall, watching him warily. She didn't touch the weeping wound on her neck, but he could tell she wanted to. "What the fuck was that?" she demanded. She sounded more astounded than angry.

Cullen grabbed her wrist and tugged her down the hall. She barely had time to grab her discarded leathers but managed to keep up with his own restricted shuffle. He unlocked the door at the end of the hall and shoved her in. She stumbled, falling to the floorboards with a clatter, breeches flopping across the wood. She was cursing as she kicked her boots off. _Fucking templar_ might have been one of the swears, but Cullen could barely hear through the roaring blood in his ears.

He stripped off his boots and breeches quickly before pulling her off of the floor. He tossed her onto the worn hides on the rickety bed, and she bounced on the cot for a moment, blinking in confusion. Undeterred, she shouted, "What the fuck, Cullen? You bit me!"

"You keep pushing me," Cullen returned as he unbuttoned his tunic. He watched her gaze slide over his chest, the appreciation in her eyes unable to be hidden by her annoyance. "You can't have expected it to go unpunished."

"Then push me back, don't tear a chunk out of my neck!" she snapped, a hand hovering over the wound but not touching it. "Shit, Cullen. I need to get home." Her words died on her lips when she noticed him stroking his cock and stepping toward her. Her eyes widened. "Cullen, no. I need to get this stitched or at least cleaned-" He shoved her back onto the bed and pulled her tunic up and over her head before pushing her legs apart. He saw something like fear pass over her eyes as he forced himself between her legs. It faded when her eyelids fluttered, and she sank back onto the bed, moaning. "I fucking hate you," she groaned as her arms circled his neck, drawing him into her.

"It is mutual," he grunted, his release attempting to swim over him. Cullen gave a small piece of his attention to the fact that Hawke was going to be left unsated by the end of the night. A slight tang of regret welled in his chest, but he tamped it down, slamming himself into her harder, racing the fiery feeling in his abdomen.

"I hope an abomination rips you to pieces," she continued, her nails digging into his back as she arched, a cry of pain and pleasure slipping from her lips at a particularly vicious stab of his cock to her cervix.

Cullen bit down the retorts. _I hope you watch your apostate friends led to the Gallows in chains. I hope your beloved mages make you rue the day you sided with them. I hope I am there to see it happen._ Instead of speaking those words, somehow too cruel even for him, even for her, he slapped her face. Her breath stuttered in ecstasy.

He came in a rush, shuddering as his lips fell to hers. He wasn't sure why he kissed her. He wasn't sure why she returned the gesture. But as soon as the waves of euphoria from his orgasm passed, he broke the kiss and slid onto the cot beside her, jostling her out of the way. She grumbled but slipped onto her side, allowing him more room.

He laid in the cot, listening to her breathing as it stilled. He thought she was asleep until she shivered and sat up. "I should go," she whispered.

Cullen hooked an arm around her waist, his hand splayed on her muscled abdomen as he pulled her back down. He cradled her body against his and pulled the hides around them, his face buried in her hair. She smelled like blood; his mouth tasted like blood. Neither of them said a word as they drifted into an uneasy sleep.

 

* * *

 

When Cullen awoke late in the morning, Hawke was gone; she had only left a bloodstain on their shared pillow. Cullen swallowed, a hand skimming over the dried splotch of brownish-red and blinked back his regret. He wasn't sure what he had expected from the morning, but it hadn't been an empty bed and a stained pillow. He sighed, leaning back on the cot and covering his eyes with his forearm. He wasn't sure why he cared that she'd slipped out without a word.

But he did.

_Maker preserve me, I need a drink._


	3. Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything! 
> 
> **Chapter Warnings: Smut. Very light BDSM.** Oh, and minor PTSD flare-up and some _feelings._
> 
> The song inspiration for this chapter is ["Tear You Apart," by She Wants Revenge.](https://open.spotify.com/track/3urJUvRhgMrwydaTQFVEg9) Please enjoy!

* * *

 

**Cullen Rutherford**

Cullen hadn't seen Hawke for a week. He hadn't expected anything different; he had forced himself upon her, and she had slipped out before he had awoken. He didn't know many women who would handle the situation with as much grace and forgiveness as Hawke did. Cullen hadn't lost his job, so she - and her dwarven storyteller - had evidently not told anyone.

It was midmorning at the end of the fortnight when Hawke's distinctively cocky voice filled the Gallows courtyard. The wind was cool and bitter, hinting at the coming winter. Even so, Hawke wore only a thin set of leathers over her breeches and tunic, daggers glinting in the sunlight. “Bethany,” she sing-songed loudly. “Come greet your favorite sister!”

Cullen watched as the younger Hawke rushed out from where she'd been talking with other mages under the awning. The sisters hugged, and Hawke's voice dipped lower, holding her sister's hands as she spoke to her in an undertone. Cullen tried to be discreet as he watched them, but Hawke glanced his way and caught him openly staring. She smirked slightly before turning her gaze back to Bethany. She whispered something else to the girl, and Bethany's eyes widened, moving toward Cullen.

"Marian! You didn't!" the younger shouted.

Cullen groaned, finally looking away. Hawke was a loudmouth; he had known that before getting involved with her. Why he was suddenly surprised that she would tell her sister about their liaison was beyond him. He busied himself with sweeping his gaze over the other mages milling through the courtyard, faces basking in the possibly last rays of sun they were able to enjoy without heavy cloaks. They gave Cullen a wide berth but seemed less on edge around him than some of the other templars. Cullen wasn't a dolt, he knew that some of the others mirrored Meredith's abuses and fervor. It was oddly pleasing to know that he didn't inspire as much fear in those under his protection as the others did.

But the fact that any of the templars inspired fear from the mages was a problem that Cullen wished he could fix. He wished there was some way to convince Meredith, to show her another way.

As he was lost in thought, Marian Hawke had come to stand beside him. She angled herself slightly to look out over the courtyard, humming in approval. "You must be proud, Knight-Captain."

"Oh?" He steeled himself for the dance, knowing he would hate the next thing that came out of her mouth.

"All these dirty mages ripe for the picking. Which one will you make an example of first? A beautiful brand on that sweet blonde there? Or how about the flame-haired one with the tattoo? She looks ready to incite panic." The girl she referred to was dozing against a column, face turned up toward the sun. "There's always my lovely sister, too," she added, voice dripping with sudden venom. "I heard you went to visit her in her quarters yesterday."

"We do sweeps of the rooms every fortnight, Hawke," Cullen snapped, startling two mages passing by. The man and woman glanced at them warily before veering away quickly. Cullen took a deep breath, steadying his hands by clenching them. "You should not be here. You know this. You need permission to visit-"

"Oh, Rutherford, don't you remember giving me permission?" she breathed, voice barely loud enough for him to hear her. "Six nights ago at the Hanged Man. I think it was around the time you put your-"

He turned to her sharply, fighting to urge to grab her, to shove her down onto the steps. He bit the desire back and hissed, "Fine. If you insist on resorting to extortion-"

Hawke's smirk made his words die on his lips. "Come by tonight," she murmured softly.

"I have patrols."

"No, you don't. Your recruits said you have tonight and tomorrow off."

Cullen clenched his jaw. "And how did you get this information?"

Hawke's smirk was sneaky as she leaned back, her lower body tilted toward him. He could see her sharp hipbone in his mind's eye, and it was enough to make his fingers twitch with desire. "I have my ways, Rutherford." Before he could press, she glanced around. "I should go. Wouldn't want to arouse suspicion. My place, tonight. I'm not making you dinner, though, so-"

"I have a lyrium dose tonight," he interrupted quickly. "I am not usually well after a fresh dose. If they are raising it again, I cannot come to your home. It could be... dangerous."

Hawke's smirk twitched. "Do what you will, but I will leave the side door unlocked for you. Do try to make it before midnight, though. I start getting cranky if I am up too late." She winked at him before turning to go; the action was a strange one to see in the Gallows.

Her hand brushed his glove briefly as she left, so soft he hadn't even felt it, but seeing her fingers on his, even for the brief moment, made his heart jolt.

What was she doing to him?

 

* * *

 

Cullen had left his armor at the barracks, his veins coursing with too much energy to ever be able to get out. Most of the recruits found their way to the Blooming Rose after their fortnight-doses, needing to expend some of the anxious energy pooling in their bodies. Cullen never had; he had never been interested in casual sex with women who were only interested in him for a singular purpose.

And yet, here he was. He was standing in the shadowed alley between Hawke's estate and her neighbors', staring at the unlocked side door and cursing himself for being there. He wasn't sure what was happening between Hawke and himself, what her singular purpose was; he had tried puzzling it out many nights over the past week. He couldn't stand her, of that he knew. She wasn't too keen on him, either. And yet here they were, time after time, somehow drawn together like a moth and a flame.

But who was the moth and who was the flame?

The thought troubled him more than it should have as he pushed the door open and entered a storage room. He made his way through the mostly-empty corridor into the main room, passing by lit rooms that must have been the servants' quarters. He thought he might have heard the elf girl, Orana, singing softly. Snores came from another chamber.

In the main room, Hawke's war hound was flopped on his side in front of the fire, belly toward the warmth. The mabari huffed and tilted his head on his thick neck to glance back at Cullen. The mabari was up in an instant, dropping to a stance that could have been playful or aggressive. Cullen had never owned an animal - especially not an intelligent hound. He froze in place as the dog let out a deep, bellowing bark at him, butt wiggling.

"Captain!"

Cullen and the dog turned in unison to see Hawke leaning over the balcony railing, smirking at them. "I meant Captain Wigglesworth, Rutherford. He was just settling in for the night, I assume, but he is always willing to play with a new victim first." The dog barked again, stubby tail moving so quickly that Cullen could only see a blur of motion.

"Captain Wigglesworth," Cullen repeated. The dog's butt was still waggling in what Cullen could now see was excitement. The name was oddly fitting, albeit childish. "He is... quite magnificent. I have seen few others in my time."

Captain hopped toward him, flopping onto his back. Cullen awkwardly lowered himself to the floor, running a hand over the dog's incredibly warm chest. Captain licked his hand, leaving a trail of slobber in its wake and making Cullen grumble. He stood quickly, wiping his hand on his pants, and glanced up toward Hawke. She looked oddly pleased. Happy, almost. It was a strange expression to see on the rogue whose two single expressions were rage and irritating joviality.

"So," he began slowly.

Hawke yanked her head, requesting him to follow her, and disappeared into a room he could only guess was her chamber. He thought about leaving - it wasn't too late to get out and forget about her summon. The lyrium in his blood could find another outlet, the same outlet as usual... his hand. But he knew that wouldn't cut it, not this time. His dose had been increased again in preparation for some uprising Meredith was sure would happen soon. Cullen knew there probably would be some kind of mage revolt, but he doubted frying all of their brains with more lyrium, pushing out rational thought and compassion, would help anything.

But he had said nothing to Meredith because he was a coward. He couldn't stand up to her; he would find himself dead if he even considered questioning her. She would say he was a blood mage's thrall and hang him the same day. At least this way, if Cullen quietly worked things from the inside, he might be able to keep the deaths to a minimum.

By the time he made it to Hawke's bedroom, Cullen's fists were clenched tightly. He could feel his blunt nails biting into the calloused skin of his palms, could feel the heat of the lyrium thrumming inside of him. The rage always came on quickly and fiercely. When his eyes met Hawke's, all he could see was her red, red lips smirking at him.

Hawke was sitting on the side of her large bed, running lotion over her bare legs. Her short slip of a robe was parting along the middle, giving a long, uninterrupted view of the valley between her breasts and the muscled abdomen beneath. Cullen couldn't tear his eyes away from her. He was in front of her before he noticed he was moving, pushing her back onto the mattress. Cullen moved to cover her body with his, but her feet came up and pushed him back firmly, her velvety laughter wounding him. "Not yet," she murmured, still sprawled on the crimson duvet.

Cullen grabbed her ankles and pushed her legs apart, descending between them. His mouth found the heat between her legs and delved in, lapping at her warmth and relishing the sharp intake of her breath. She hadn't expected this; Maker, _he_ hadn't expected this. But he wanted to taste her. He wanted to make her feel something aside for her usual awful amusement.

Cullen only had the chance to tour her apex for a few moments before Hawke slid away from him across the silky duvet, frowning. "I had an entire plan for tonight, and you're mucking it up." He growled and grabbed for her legs, but Hawke was too spry for him, sliding away and putting the bed between them, eyes narrowing. "Are you going to play nice, Rutherford?"

Cullen let out an exasperated sigh. "Why did you invite me over if you are going to dance away from me?"

Hawke's lips twitched upward as she untied the sash around her waist, slowly stepping around the bed. Cullen turned to face her as she approached, reaching out to help her push the robe off. She swatted his hands away, smirking at his furrowed brow. "You need to let go of the control sometimes, Rutherford. It's not healthy to need to overpower everyone all of the time. You aren't Meredith, right?"

Her robe fell to the floor, and Cullen's eyes hungrily swept over her body, forgetting the little jab as soon as she was on display before him. It was strange how much he enjoyed seeing her, how he was always amazed at the same stretches of skin, the same protrusion of bones. His eyes skimmed over her neck and caught sight of the imprint of his teeth on her throat. She had gone to a healer, evidently, because it was a perfect, pearlescent scar. His hand reached up to trace over it, and he felt a swell of both embarrassment and pride. He had marked her for life. She would never be able to see the scar without thinking of their drunken night in the Hanged Man.

Hawke began unbuttoning his tunic, slender fingers making quick work of it. She tossed the linen to the floor before ducking down to untie his boots. Her head brushed across his cock, stirring it to life as she worked. Cullen kicked the shoes off when she finished unlacing them, and she glanced up at him, frowning. "Let go of the control, Rutherford, or I'll toss you outside without your clothes."

"I would like to see you toss me anywhere," Cullen couldn't help but sneer. As if to illustrate his point, he grabbed her under her arms and hoisted her off of the ground, pitching her onto her bed again. She sprawled on the mattress, looking dazed for a moment, before rolling her eyes. "You are insufferable."

Cullen chuckled, untying his breeches and shoving them off. If she only knew how often he thought the same of her. His smalls followed close behind his trousers, joining the pile, and he lowered himself onto the bed above her. His lips found hers as his hand plunged between her legs, stroking her slick softness. She gasped against his lips and opened her mouth to him, their tongues swirling together, caressing. It was the softest kiss he had shared with her, something more sensual than demanding.

It wasn't how he expected the night to go. Usually, the lyrium made him angry, animalistic. There was a reason he was given two days off after being dosed; such high amounts tended to make people aggressive and short-tempered. It had certainly done so for Cullen before. But there was something different this time. Perhaps it was the joy of not being alone for once. Perhaps it was simply that he was still feeling sick for abusing her the previous week.

Hawke shoved at his chest, and he pulled away from her, allowing her to catch her breath and whisper, "Get on your back." He opened his mouth to ask her what she intended, but she shoved at him again, harder this time, and he grumbled, moving to do as she said. Cullen laid on in the middle of the bed, and Hawke leaned down, kissing her way over his chest and neck. She sat high on his waist, her thighs squeezing against him and holding him in place.

When she broke free from the kisses, she leaned over him, grappling for something behind the headboard. Cullen had opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing when a cuff snapped around his left wrist, and then another around his right. His eyes widened as he looked up at Hawke. "What-"

She put a hand to his lips, silencing him and making the jolt of unease blossom in his chest. "Hush. You got to have your way with me. I think it only fair that I get to do the same to you." She slid off of his waist and went to the footboard, clipping more shackles to his ankles.

"Do you tie your conquests down often?" Cullen asked, trying to keep the disquiet from his voice. He wasn't sure if he was succeeding.

"Not often," she admitted with a chuckle, sauntering to her bureau and shuffling through a bottom drawer.

Cullen heard rattling and swallowed sharply. He tugged at the shackles, testing, and found the metal unyielding. "Hawke, this will not end well."

She returned to him with a blindfold which she placed over his eyes before kissing him again. "I'm not going to hurt you, Rutherford. Not much, anyway." She was gone again, rustling through the bureau before coming back, placing something on her side table. Cullen's throat was suddenly dry.

The terror shot through him without warning. The fallen Tower. The screaming. The sounds of his mage wards being sacrificed, turning into abominations. His fellow templars being murdered, torn apart, abducted for blood sacrifices. Uldred's awful, sickening laughter.

Cullen's voice came out loud, terrified, a tone he hadn't heard since his time in the fallen Kinloch Hold. "Hawke, no, I can't-"

Her lips were suddenly on his again, soft and caressing. She lowered herself onto his hips, her body draping along his as she kissed him. His terror faded slightly, her gentle fingers on his stubbled jaw soothing the edges away. "Do you want me to stop?" she asked tenderly against his lips.

"I..." Cullen couldn't find his words. He couldn't think past the warring emotions, past the lyrium making each fear heighten, making each desire sharpen.

Hawke slid off of him, and the panic spiked for a moment before her mouth ran down his abdomen, his hips bones, and then along his flagging cock. She took him between her lips, sucking gently, and Cullen's brain quieted for a moment. He gasped as her skilled mouth moved up and down his swiftly hardening cock, her soft moans thrilling him, making his blood sing. The lyrium had, thankfully, found a new outlet to focus on and Cullen's breath stuttered out of him in anxious bursts. His hands clenched and he tugged at the chains holding him for a moment, uselessly, for some reason thinking that they might finally give.

When Hawke pulled back from his yearning cock he grunted, hips bucking, and she giggled softly. He expected her to tease him, to ask if he was feeling better with that tone that was somehow condescending and innocent at the same time. She said nothing, though, as she crawled up his body. Her legs hooked under his arms and he could smell her sex, so close, the sudden warmth of her hovering over his face.

He raised his head and licked across a soft fold of her labia, the only thing he could reach, and she chuckled. "So eager." Hawke lowered herself slowly until Cullen didn't need to stretch out. his tongue slid across her slick wetness, his hands tightening on the chains holding him, wanting more of her. He ran his tongue from her clit to her passage, tonguing the tight ring of muscle, loving how her thighs tightened around his jaw, how her hips had begun to rock, pressing herself into him harder before breaking away slightly to give him room to breathe.

But Cullen didn't want to breathe. He wanted to bury himself into her and stay there, to keep tasting the heady mix of savory and sweet, to feel her quivering against his face and hear the muffled sound of her blithe cries. He wanted to grip her hips in his hands, to pull her down into him, but he could only struggle against his confines, growling against her clit.

She came hard, her hips thrusting down into him, cutting off his airflow as her thighs became a vice around his face. Cullen gasped into her, knowing that his cock was painfully hard and no doubt weeping precome all over his belly. Hawke quickly pushed herself off of him, dropping to the bed and curling into his side. Her head fell to his pectoral, tongue flicking lazily over his nipple as she caught her breath. Hawke's voice rasped for a moment as if she was about to say something but it petered out quickly, replaced with a soft snort. She pushed herself off of him, and he turned his head toward her even though he couldn't see her.

Her tongue flicked over his face, collecting her juices from him and Cullen groaned, opening his mouth. Her lips fell to his, tongue making deep, languid circles around his. Hawke slowly slid herself onto his cock, her wet sex opening to him with little resistance. She started a gentle, deep pace, their lips still attached, before she slowly began to speed up, her hips circling as she rode him. When she broke free from the kiss, Cullen grunted in annoyance, stretching his neck up to try to find her again. She chuckled, pressing a hand against his forehead and shoving him back onto the mattress. "Stay," she ordered.

"I am not your hound," he snapped with sudden venom. The lyrium was warming inside of him, trying to lash out.

"No?" Hawke chuckled. "You look like one, all tied up, angry, waiting for my mercy. The perfect attack dog."

He jerked against the chains uselessly, her laugh tormenting him. "I will show you attack dog."

"Is that a threat, Knight-Captain?" she breathed, leaning down to ghost her lips across his.

He snapped his jaws and gripped her lower lip between them, making her whimper. "It is a promise."

He felt Hawke reach over him, toward the side table, and her breasts were suddenly on his face. He bit down on the closest one, teeth gnashing on her as she yelped. She didn't pull away, though, and instead repositioned to offer him her nipple. Cullen took it instantly, tongue sweeping over the hardening nub. She arched, moaning, her hips speeding up as his teeth scraped across the sensitive peak.

Cullen heard the sharp cracking noise before he felt anything. But suddenly his thigh was stinging, and he dropped her breast from his mouth, snapping, "Hawke!"

She chuckled and another pain lanced across his thigh. Cullen had been whipped before - pain tolerance had to be built among those intent on joining the Templar Order. One such pain was flogging. He hadn't been hit with cured leather in years, not since he was sixteen, but the sting was familiar; less harsh, not nearly hard enough to draw blood, but startling none the less.

"You will regret this when I am unchained," Cullen breathed in spite of the thrill he felt. Her cunt tightened around him each time the snap of the leather hit his thigh.

"Who says you will ever be unchained?" she teased in a sultry purr, her hips speeding up as another snap hit his other leg. "Perhaps this is your new life. Humiliation as I force myself on your over and over again," she whispered, leaning down to drag her tongue across his throat. "Share you with my friends...."

"Hawke," he growled a warning. He felt his orgasm beginning to build, and he was not ready for it. He wanted his chance to dominate her. He wanted his chance to make her uncomfortable, to make her squirm.

"Isabela has shown some interest," she continued, tongue sliding up to his ear. Hawke's breath was hot as she nipped his lobe. "Fenris might even be curious to see what a templar can do between the sheets."

"Unchain me," he snarled, turning his head and snapping his teeth next to her neck. If she wanted an attack dog, an attack dog she would get. Her sex tightened around him, and he let out a guttural growl. "Now."

To Cullen's surprise, she snapped the leather on his side one last time before leaning over him again. He felt her hands on his wrists, the sound of a key rasping against his cuffs like music. Hawke had only managed to unchain his hands when he snatched his blindfold off and tossed her onto the bed, twisting to get behind her. His feet still caught up, he dragged her hips back into him and angled her, plunging his cock back inside of her.

Hawke was writhing under him, fingers scrabbling across the duvet as he plowed into her. He knew his pelvis would be in pain for days after, but he didn't care. He didn't care that he was no doubt hurting her with the force of his body against hers. She had asked for it - practically begged for it.

"Harder," she moaned as if sensing his thoughts. He slammed his hand against her ass, the sound loud enough to rattle his jaw. She yelped and shoved herself back into him, whimpering, "Harder, Cullen, _harder!"_

Cullen pulled himself out of her without warning, and she shouted in annoyance, the words coming out of her mouth making little sense as she wriggled. Cullen smirked at her when she turned her head to glare at him, his hand delving into her warm, tight cunt. He ran his hand from her slick passage up to her ass, wet fingers sliding slow circles around the puckered skin.

"Cullen!" she snapped. "Don't you _dare."_

He didn't respond, delving his cock back into her wetness before pressing it against her ass. She yelped as he began to slowly slide into her, giving her time to adjust to the sudden width and pain. Hawke was squinting, her brow bunched as she gasped. She kept clenching against his cock, and he chuckled, unable to help it. "Relax, Champion," he murmured. "It will make this easier."

His pressed her face down into the bed, holding it there, and pushed in a little faster. He began to move, delving in and out, finding a quick rhythm that was now making Hawke squeal in something close to delight. Her hips were bucking, ass sliding back into him. He admired how she looked, how the kohl around the one eye he could see had smudged, how her lip stain had worn off at some point during their time together. The remains were probably on his mouth and his dick.

The orgasm that had been threatening him all night was looming but interrupted again by Hawke suddenly seizing around him, her mouth opening in a noiseless gasp. She shuddered, her body abruptly full of electricity as she came. Cullen shoved into her harder, faster, spurring her orgasm to well up around her, to lengthen, to envelop her. Her soundless cry turned into a keening sob, fists curling into the duvet and tugging.

Cullen could not hold back his own orgasm, exploding inside of her while he watched her lips move in ragged puffs of breath. He grunted, fingers gripping into the soft skin of her hips, nails biting against bone. Cullen jolted one last time before his release softly subsided, leaving him suddenly emptied and close to exhaustion. He pulled himself out of her slowly before slumping to the bed, a hand on his chest and feeling his frantically beating heart.

Hawke pulled herself off of the bed after a few moments of lying in a still heap. She left the room, unashamedly naked. Cullen would have been confused or worried if he had the strength to care enough. When she finally returned, it was with a wet towel. She silently worked the cloth over his body, collecting the sweat before running it over his cock gently. Lovingly, a part of Cullen thought briefly before he dismissed it.

Hawke left again, but not before unshackling his ankles. When she returned, she curled beside him on the bed. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer until her head was resting on the crook of his arm, her hand on his chest.

"I still hate you," she yawned suddenly.

Cullen smirked and didn't respond. He didn't need to; Hawke knew where they stood.

 

* * *

 

Cullen awoke to an empty bedroom with a fading fire in the hearth and a plate of breakfast on the bedside table. There were exotic-smelling meats and cheeses, some grapes, and what looked like a fresh loaf of bread. There was also a quickly scrawled note.

_C- Believe it or not, I am not running out on you purposely. Work to do; Hubert, the 'Merchant Extraordinaire,' is useless, so I need to go to the Bone Pit. Stay for as long as you'd like, but be ready for a second round if you're still there when I return. Oh. The key goes to the side door if you want it for... future forays. -M_

Cullen chuckled and picked up the brass key that had been under the note. He ate the entire tray of food, surprised to find his appetite the best it had been in years, while running his thumb over the key in his free hand. He considered staying on until Hawke returned. And then he thought of how annoyed she would be to find him gone.

And if he left the key....

Cullen got to his feet and began to dress. He had nothing to do for the day, but a trip to the Hightown Market was something he'd ignored for too long. He needed more civilian clothing if he was going to blend in. A cloak, too. Something with a deep hood so none would recognize him when he visited Hawke.

That was assuming she wouldn't tire of him and render the whole thing useless. _Or I tire of her,_ he added to the thought quickly, knowing that scenario would probably never occur.

Cullen almost left the room without the key when he turned, looking at it glinting on the bedside table. He swallowed and retraced his steps, grabbing the key and tucking it into his coin purse. He should leave it, leave it and make Hawke question everything. Make her feel expendable. Make her hurt.

But, for some reason, he couldn't do that to her, not now. It made his teeth clench, his hands ball, and his stomach ache. He didn't want to hurt her, he realized with dismay. Not in ways she didn't ask to be hurt. Not anymore.

He went to her desk and scrawled a quick note, leaving it on his empty tray of food.

_M- I have errands to run so I will see you when next we meet. Good luck with Hubert. I always assumed he was a twat; it is good to know that I was not far off. -C_


	4. Sheets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
> 
>  **Chapter Warnings: Less smut, but still a bit. Cullen has uninspired sex with another woman. _Feelings._** This chapter is much gentler than the previous ones.
> 
> This chapter's song inspiration is ["Sheets," by Damien Juardo.](https://open.spotify.com/track/4YvAKcZ1BN4XsxkzL1Bo0w) Please enjoy!

* * *

 

**Cullen Rutherford**

"Knight-Commander, surely there is no way you will need me for-"

Meredith's eyes narrowed at Cullen as she turned her body to face him. It was never a good sign when her posture changed; she was always stiff, on edge, but if she shifted toward one of her men with serpent-like quickness, a verbal reprimand was on its way. "Apologies, Knight-Captain. Did you have something more pressing to attend to tomorrow night?" Her words were dripping with venom and Cullen noticed a few recruits shiver at the tone.

Cullen opened his mouth and closed it. He wasn't sure what to say - that tomorrow was his first night off in over a week? That he needed to get out of the Gallows before Meredith drove him insane? That the need boiling in his loins could not be sated until he took Hawke's hair in a fist and shoved her down onto her bed?

"I thought not," she muttered, icy eyes lingering on Cullen, a small sneer twitching her lips. She looked at him as if she knew exactly where he would disappear to on his nights off; as if she knew who he was choosing to spend his free evenings with, and that Meredith was waiting for the perfect moment to punish him for it.

Or he was becoming as paranoid as Meredith herself.

She continued. "The Knight-Vigilant has decided this trip is beneath him, but we will be in the presence of Knight-Commander Eron, Knight-Captain Evangeline, and Enchanter Rhys of the White Spire. Orsino, I do expect you to treat Rhys well and not plan anything silly while he is here. No explosions, no displays of your... talent."

Orsino glanced up at her from where he had been scribbling notes on a thick piece of creamy parchment. He raised an eyebrow at the woman and murmured flippantly, "That is too bad, Knight-Commander. Think of the breathtaking fireworks we could have planned."

Meredith sighed, ignoring the jab. She knew as well as anyone that Orsino had no intention of harming his station, his charges, or the templars. Not at present, anyway; there was no way in which to do it successfully, especially not while there were additional forces in the Gallows. "Cullen, you will be escorting Knight-Captain Evangeline through the Gallows and making sure she has everything she needs," Meredith continued as if she had not been interrupted. "Ensure she knows just how stern we are, and how well we see after our charges if they remain well-behaved."

"I believe 'how well behaved our charges are, and how well we treat them,' is a better way to phrase the lie," Orsino spoke up again, the feathered plume of his quill brushing his chin in mock-contemplation. "If you wish to give the illusion to a well-oiled machine, that is."

Cullen cleared his throat, trying valiantly to tear Meredith's ire from the elf. "Of course, Knight-Commander. It will be done."

"Good," Meredith nodded to him. "I know it is your scheduled respite tomorrow, but I will need you here. You may leave as soon as our guests do."

"How long do they intend to stay?" Knight-Lieutenant Olened asked suddenly, breaking into the conversation.

"The Enchanter, Knight-Commander, and Knight-Captain will be here for a day at most," Meredith replied coolly. "They will, however, bring an attache that will remain-"

"What?!" Orsino shouted.

"-for the foreseeable future," Meredith continued, a smirk tilting her lips. "Orlais is interested in helping us regain control of the situation here in Kirkwall. If we fall, the other Circles may follow suit."

"This is madness!" Orsino yelled, getting to his feet. He was gripping his fists so tightly that his quill snapped, leaking ink all over the worn wooden desk of the meeting room. "You have control in Kirkwall! You have _always_ had control! You are seeing darkness in corners where there is none!"

"Dismissed," Meredith said, eyes never leaving Orsino's.

Cullen lingered in the room. He was sure that no harm would come to the First Enchanter, but also wary of the murderous leer on Meredith's face. "First Enchanter, I can escort you to your-"

"Do I look as though I need an escort, Knight-Captain?" the elf snapped. "Your _master_ gave you an order. Get out."

Cullen did his best not to bristle as he left the room. He listened to his left knee pop in annoyance at him as he moved toward his station at the gates. Cullen hadn't sparred as much as he should recently, his joints beginning to tighten and hurt in the coming cold. His father used to chuckle when the winter winds came in, predicting the weather based on the ache in his fingers. Cullen had hoped he would never be the doddering man foretelling the change in weather, but it seemed as if that, like so many other things, was unavoidable.

 

* * *

 

Evangeline was an attractive woman, much to Cullen's dismay. She was tall with thick chestnut hair that she wore in a braided crown around her chiseled face. The skin around Evangeline's eyes crinkled prettily when she smiled, which she seemed to do a lot of when Cullen looked at her.

"Your accent," she murmured over dinner, spearing a piece of blackened bass with her fork, "it is not one of the Free Marches. Are you from Ferelden?"

"You can tell?" he asked, amused. No one had ever cared enough to mention it to him before - no one aside from other Ferelden transplants.

"It might help that we were just in Jainen," she admitted with a little laugh. "I must say, I do prefer Ferelden to the Free Marches, from what I have seen thus far. Things might be brown there, but at least there are trees." She shook her head sadly. "There is too much utility here, not nearly enough beauty."

Cullen almost mentioned his home in Honnleath. He almost told her about the quiet dock he would sit at when his home life and mind became too loud. Instead, he sipped from his goblet of wine and murmured, "It is quite dull, having so little in the city itself. There are some beautiful coastlines and even forests toward Sundermount."

"You might need to take me when next I visit," she hummed, her leg brushing against his under the table.

Cullen swallowed. "I might."

 

* * *

 

A small part of him had expected it to happen. When Evangeline asked him to show her around the barracks after finishing a bottle of wine with him, Cullen anticipated her next move would be to see his room.

She asked to, and he took her there without complaint, closing the door behind them and turning to her.

It didn't take her long to begin to remove her breastplate, unwinding her thick rope of hair from her head and letting it tumble down her upper back. She had stripped quietly, her honeyed skin glinting in the firelight. She stepped toward him, almost shyly, and helped him with his armor. Her fingers were gentle, ghosting over his skin and making him shudder.

Evangeline was too tame. She was too careful. Something about it made Cullen feel uneasy, so he tried to banish the discomfort by taking her lips with his, hands in her hair, pulling her in closer. Evangeline's hand slid down his chest and to his cock, stroking it with her fingers. Cullen couldn't help comparing her to Hawke - Evangeline's muscled body was firmer, free of the careless scars Hawke sported. Her fingers were less dexterous, and her grip on his cock was somehow both too loose and too firm at the same time.

Cullen winced, trying to push back the thoughts. Evangeline pulled back abruptly, seeming to have felt his distress, her eyebrows knitting together. "Is something the matter?"

"No... just my knee," he lied quickly, leading her toward his bed. "Sore from training," he added unnecessarily. She looked at him as if she could see through him, but she said nothing.

It took him a few minutes to get hard enough to slide between her legs in spite of how lovely she looked sprawled on his bed, her hand between her legs, her other guiding his head between her breasts. She sounded exquisite - breathy and delicate, her voice mewling with each stroke of his cock into her warmth. He watched the unadulterated joy on her face while he thrust into her, wishing he could feel even a fraction of what she seemed to be feeling. She seemed enraptured, overjoyed. She seemed to be enjoying herself. She seemed to be enjoying him.

He had to focus to stay hard. He had to close his eyes and pretend. Cullen hated himself for thinking of Hawke, the woman he despised above all others. But he kept seeing her in his mind's eye, arching beneath him, smirking, crying out in sharp bursts of ecstasy.

Cullen came in a rush, thinking of another woman, his head falling to Evangeline's shoulder as he gasped out, "Marian."

Evangeline stilled beneath him, and Cullen pulled back immediately, mortified. "I... I am so sorry."

Evangeline forced a smile and shook her head. "It is fine. I... I assumed there might have been someone else. It is only human." She leaned up to kiss him before gliding out from under him, pulling her clothing on and refastening her armor. She left her hair down, tousled from sex, and murmured, "Sleep well, Knight-Captain."

"You as well, Knight-Captain," he returned softly, running a hand over his face as she slipped from his room silently. He gripped his hair in his hand, wanting nothing more than to yell. "Fuck," he settled for muttering, falling back to his pillow.

 

* * *

 

The Orlesians had stayed into the following evening, Knight-Commander Eron sparing no praise for Meredith during the trip. The two became fast friends, which Cullen supposed wasn't unusual; they were both bordering on insanity.

Cullen and Evangeline had spent the day pretending that the prior night had not happened. Evangeline, to her credit, was as cheerful and sweet as she had been before their escapade, but Cullen was finding it hard to stop himself from apologizing. He managed to bite his tongue around the words, but just barely. Evangeline seemed to realize it, too, but mercifully did not mention it.

When the Orlesians finally left, departing without their attache of 20 templars, Cullen found Meredith and said, "If there is nothing else, I will be retiring for the next two days."

"Going to the mainland?" she asked without much interest. She said it as if she already knew.

"The only good place to drink," Cullen replied smoothly. He had spent the last day coming up with the excuse, an excuse he heard a million times from his subordinates.

"Do try to stay out of trouble," Meredith bade him before turning and walking toward her office.

Cullen took a detour to his room in the barracks, getting changed and packing a small bag of clothing for the following day. He hid away inside of his wool cloak and left the Gallows at nearly a run. The boat ride to the Kirkwall docks was cold and wet, leaving him cross and shivering. Cullen made his way up the steps leading to Hightown, cursing his sore knee and all of the walking to be done in the city. He had never ascended so many stairs at one time, not even at Kinloch Hold.

It was late in the evening by the time he made it to Hawke's estate. The main room was quiet, Captain nowhere to be seen, the fire in the hearth dwindling to a smolder. Cullen thought about adding logs to the fire but decided against it, making his way up the stairs and toward Hawke's closed bedroom door. He reached for the knob but paused when he heard moaning. Cullen swallowed, momentarily stunned. Hawke's throaty groans were easy to distinguish, but her partner seemed to be rather silent.

 _Partner._ Cullen's blood began to boil in his veins, his face growing hot. She had someone else in her bedroom with her. Someone else was enjoying her warmth and her exuberance. He knew he shouldn't be jealous - hadn't he done the same thing the night before? - but his hands had begun to shake.

He shoved the door open, the fire within him licking his insides and causing his innards to sour.

To Cullen's surprise, she was alone. Hawke was on her bed, back against the headboard, a hand between her shapely, milky thighs. Another hand was cupping her left breast, fingers deftly twisting a nipple, her head thrown back in rapture. She jolted when the door clattered against the wall, the hand between her legs stilling. Cullen couldn't see her eyes but knew her pupils would be eclipsing the irises, blown wide and dark. Hawke watched him, startled for a moment before a slow smile slipped over her lips. She opened her mouth as if to say something but seemed to think better of it. Instead, the hand on her sex began to move again, middle finger drawing lazy circles over her clit.

Cullen closed the door behind him and tossed his bag against the wall, moving toward the bed as he shed his clothing. They watched one another without speaking, Cullen tearing his boots and clothing off before sliding onto the bed on top of her. His cock was already hard, pressing into her belly as he leaned over her to catch her lips in his. Hawke moaned, removing her hands from her body and wrapping them around his neck. He felt her slick fingers smooth across his nape, soothing the strain from them in an instant. Cullen wasn't sure how, but the woman always seemed to fill him with passion and sap him of tension when their lips met.

It took some imaginative angling to thrust into her. Cullen raised her legs up, one flush with his body and resting on his shoulder, the other high on his hip. His cock found its home inside of her, and she gasped softly, tightening her hold around his neck. He kissed her throat, nipping her tenderly as he moved against her.

This was what his night with Evangeline should have been. Quiet desire, the slow unraveling of their bodies and minds. Cullen wasn't sure why it hadn't happened that way, what he had done wrong, but it was so effortless to get lost in Hawke.

He felt his release threatening to overtake him and grunted into her throat, pulling back slightly. "Close?" he asked, uttering the first word of the night.

She smiled and shook her head, arms falling from his neck to grip his hips, nails biting in. He hissed quietly, clenching his abdomen and trying to keep from coming. "You?" she breathed.

"Close," he confirmed, panting. His hand rose to her throat to squeeze it, a sure way to bring her to her release, but she batted it away.

"Not tonight," she murmured and instead his hand fell to her breast, squeezing gently. She moaned, arching her back, and he abruptly pulled out of her.

"Lay on your side," he murmured when she looked at him, confused. She did as requested and he curled up behind her, spreading her legs slightly to bump into place. He re-entered her and sighed, reaching over her hip and delving a hand between her legs. She gasped as he rubbed her, his cock stabbing into her in long, slow thrusts. She began to shudder in his grasp within moments, his face burying into the wisps of hair at the nape of her neck. Hawke tightened around his cock, and she yelped as she climaxed, the muscles of her abdomen bunching against his forearm.

Cullen, finally pleased, allowed himself to release inside of her. He clung to her as he did, his breath puffing from his mouth in unsteady streams. They laid like that, wrapped up in one another until Cullen said softly, "I slept with someone else last night."

Hawke, to his surprise, chuckled. "And?"

"It... did not go well."

Hawke pulled away from him and turned. One of her legs hooked around his, pulling him in closer, her nose bumping his. "It happens, Rutherford. Best not to dwell on it."

Cullen watched her. He had expected anger, annoyance, something. Not amusement. Not acceptance. "Are you sleeping with anyone else?" he finally asked.

She raised an eyebrow at him, smile widening. "Would you be upset if I was?"

Cullen hated that he would. He hated that he was becoming dependent on Hawke, and jealous of her friends who spent most waking hours with her. He chose not to answer, closing his eyes and feigning sleep.

"Don't worry, Rutherford," she murmured against his lips before kissing him. "Stronger men than you have fallen to my prowess."

Cullen would not have known anything about that, but he wouldn't have been surprised to learn her words were true. He returned her kiss hesitantly before wrapping her in his arms, falling into an uneasy sleep.


	5. Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
> 
>  
> 
> **Chapter Warnings: Quick smut, dubious consent, feelings galore.**
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter's song inspiration is ["Criminal," by Fiona Apple](https://open.spotify.com/track/516f6F9Zd3AbWJnFHwtDF9). Please enjoy!

* * *

 

**Cullen Rutherford**

Knight-Lieutenant Olened was a good man, a good templar. Even so, he talked too much. "So," the man pressed, leaning in slightly toward Cullen. "Am I right? Of course I am; I know that look better than I care to admit."

Cullen sighed. "Do you not have work to do? I can find something for you to do if you would like."

Olened would not be cowed. "Who is the lucky lady to catch your fancy? I have never seen you look so troubled and happy in a single instant."

Cullen wasn't sure how happy had made the list of things Cullen looked. He didn't feel happy - he felt distressed and anxious, he was constantly clammy and beset on all sides by doubt. Granted, Olened was correct in one way - it was a woman that was bothering him. A woman who would be at the Gallows any moment for a meeting with Knight-Commander Meredith.

Cullen cleared his throat and shifted his weight, choosing not to answer. And then Olened added, "I would guess that she is one of our mages, considering how secretive you're being."

"If there was someone," Cullen said carefully, "she would not be a mage under our command. I have some propriety, Knight-Lieutenant."

Olened chuckled and retorted with something quick and snappy, but Cullen didn't hear it. His eyes caught the slim body he knew so well ascending the stairs, followed closely by her storyteller, elven warrior, and the Guard-Captain. Aveline looked especially uncomfortable to be there, her eyes warily scanning the courtyard. As Hawke slowly sauntered in their direction, smirking as she added an extra swing to her hips, Olened made a soft sound of approval. "Now _there_ is a woman," he murmured appreciatively.

"The Champion doesn't seem interested in Marchers," Cullen pointed out. Indeed, there had never been rumors of her seeing anyone in her entire time in Kirkwall, much to her late mother's horror. Isabela had once alluded that they had been intimate, but Cullen wasn't sure anything the drunken pirate said could be trusted.

Hawke stopped in front of them with a quick grin, turning her eyes from Cullen to the younger man beside him. "Knight-Captain, you must introduce me to your friend," she purred. Varric chuckled behind her, running a hand over his face. The dwarf seemed as amused by her antics as she was, though a tinge of embarrassment radiated from his posture.

Cullen knew she was trying to get a rise from him. Cullen hated that it was working. "Champion, you are late for your meeting. Knight-Commander Meredith does not like to be kept waiting."

"I am already late, what're another five minutes?" she replied cooly, turning her blue eyes to Olened again. "I'm Marian Hawke, as the Knight-Captain was too rude to inform you."

"Oh, we all know who you are, serah," Olened chuckled. "I am Knight-Lieutenant Olened Muir. It's a pleasure, truly. The tales do not lie about your charms."

"Charms?" she repeated, tilting her head to the side as her smile grew, becoming a seductive red smirk. "You don't know the half of them, messere, I can assure you."

Cullen clenched his fists and cleared his throat. "Champion, we should be going."

She frowned at him, the expression exaggerated. The twinkle in her eyes taunted him. "You're always such a bore, Knight-Captain. It was a pleasure to meet you, Knight-Lieutenant. I look forward to seeing more of you," she added as Cullen grabbed her upper arm roughly, tugging her toward Meredith's chambers.

Hawke giggled as they walked. "Was that a hint of jealousy I sensed, Knight-Captain?" Her companions trailed behind them at a distance. Varric seemed to be engaging the others in a conversation, giving the pair room to speak. At least someone in her group seemed to have some modicum of tact. "After the other night, I might start thinking you've fallen in love with me."

"Stop talking and walk faster," he snapped sharply.

But she did not stop talking. "I told you before; I am only quiet when I have something in my mouth. Something big and warm and hard," she cooed softly.

Cullen tightened his grip on her arm, glad when she squeaked. "You are tempting fate, speaking to me like that. Here of all places," he added.

"Tempting fate?" she repeated before chuckling. "Because someone might overhear, or because you might get too worked up and toss me down on the marble and fuck me?"

 _Both,_ Cullen admitted to himself but said nothing to the pleased rogue.

Cullen had never been so glad to see Knight-Commander Meredith as he was when she came out of her office and met them in the hall. She raised a pale eyebrow at them, eyes lingering on where Cullen was holding Hawke's arm in a vice grip. "Knight-Captain, is there a reason for manhandling the Champion?"

Cullen knew that the Knight-Commander was only trying to seem approving of Hawke because Hawke was too powerful for Meredith to dismiss or destroy - for the moment. Cullen released the woman's arm, and she rubbed it, frowning slightly. "My apologies, Knight-Commander. She seemed intent on talking to the others. I was only trying to ensure she wouldn't stray on her way to your meeting."

Meredith's gaze swept to Hawke. "Champion, I apologize for the rude reception. Might we speak somewhere a little more private?" Meredith eyed Hawke's companions warily. "In private. Your friends may wait in the courtyard if they would like."

Hawke turned to the others, seeming completely at ease. "Sorry, seems like you guys didn't make the cool kid cut." Aveline looked relieved, Varric looked amused, and Fenris looked bored, stubbing his toe against the wall to illustrate it. "Go on ahead; I'll meet up with you later. Get me a tankard if you're going to the Hanged Man," she added as they retreated before turning back to Meredith. "Shall we?"

Meredith led Hawke to her office before turning her gaze back to Cullen. "Wait here. I would like you to escort the Champion off of the premises after the meeting."

Her words sounded ominous somehow. "Of course, Knight-Commander." He watched Meredith disappear into the room, the door shutting behind her with a quiet click.

Their meeting took less than a half of an hour, but when Meredith left the office, her cheeks flushed with anger. "Get her out of here," Meredith spat venomously. "I am accompanying the Darktown patrol. Perhaps I can find these apostates on my own if the Champion decides she is too good for the work."

Cullen watched her go before stepping into Meredith's office. He found Hawke leaning against Meredith's desk between the two visitor chairs, her legs spread wide, hands splayed on the wood behind her. She smirked at him. "Here to escort me off the premises, Knight-Captain?" One of her hands traced over her breast and her abdomen, sliding down to cup the apex of her legs.

"What are you doing?" Cullen hissed, shutting the door behind him. He couldn't help that his mouth began watering as her hand teased the waistband of her leathers, threatening to slip beneath. _"Maker's breath,_ Hawke, you're going to get us both killed."

She smirked at him, hand slipping beneath her breeches, head falling back a bit as she moaned softly. "I've been thinking about you," she whispered. "About how you feel in my mouth."

Cullen closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, trying very hard to count backward from ten, to forget the words she had said, to ignore the ones she was no doubt close to uttering. He couldn't think about those soft lips, that warm tongue. "Hawke," he seethed, "get off."

"I'm trying," she moaned softly, her hand dipping further into her breeches as her breath hitched. "But the orgasms aren't as good on my own. I doubt yours are, either." Cullen moved toward her and pulled her hand out of her pants in a swift motion, making her groan. Her pale eyes opened and met his amber gaze, her lower lip jutting in a childish pout. "You're such a bore, Rutherford."

He was still holding her hand. Cullen could smell her arousal on her fingers and, before he realized what he was doing, he ducked his head to suck the digits into his mouth. The grunt that slipped from his mouth drowned out the one she uttered. His hands found her thighs and lifted her onto the desk, mouth covering hers. Their tongues slid across one another, and Hawke's fingers tried to unbuckle the fastenings of his breastplate. She couldn't, given the awkward angle, and it made her groan in frustration.

Cullen knew they didn't have time to get undressed. He was aware that they wouldn't have a chance to do all of the things they wanted, they needed. Messengers were in and out of Meredith's office by the hour, and who was to say Meredith wouldn't return before the patrol did? "We cannot do this," he murmured into her lips.

"Cullen Rutherford, you are going to fuck me," Hawke growled, biting his lower lip, teeth harsh. Her fingers were struggling with her leathers, untying and pushing them down on her thighs, wiggling on the desk to manage it. He breeches followed closely after and Cullen could smell her. She was filling the room with the heady scent of her sex and Cullen suddenly couldn't catch his breath.

His room was private; he could take Hawke there. But rationality flooded in before he could find the words to suggest it. The barracks would be full - he couldn't take her there without someone seeing her in the halls. There was the atrium, but Elsa frequented the room and would certainly tell Meredith about the discovery. There was Bethany's room, of course, but there were a million problems with that - escorting Hawke to her sister's room would arouse suspicion from the templars and mages alike. Not to mention if Bethany returned to her chamber while they were indisposed....

While his mind had attempted to run through possibilities, Hawke had pushed her clothing down to her ankles and was hoisting his skirt, untying the breeches below and shoving them down. Her fingers had just jostled his smalls off of his straining cock when Cullen came to reality. "Hawke, we can't!" he snapped, slapping her hands away. His skirts fell, tenting around his erection. "You are going to get us both hanged," he added, trying to get her to see reason.

She smirked at him, leaning back on the desk. His eyes slid down her body, down to her bared sex, and his protests died. He wasn't sure how she did it, how she convinced him that she was worth losing his profession, becoming destitute, or dying. "Fuck me," she demanded, lips still turned up at the corners.

"No," he returned, but his cock twitched and gave him away.

Hawke's hands were back, lifting the voluminous skirt and wrapping a hand around his manhood. She tugged him closer, hand tightening and making him hiss in a mix of agony and longing. Hawke positioned him at her entrance and ordered, "Now."

"No," he whispered, begging her with his eyes. _Please do not do this. Please -_

She scooted closer to the edge of the desk and pushed onto his erection, his cock sliding into the wet warmth between her legs. She groaned loudly and began to thrust her hips into him, taking him in deeper, harder, and Cullen let out a choked gasp. His hips bucked into her without his permission, and she arched her back, chest pressing into his breastplate. Hawke wrapped her arms around his neck, her thighs scraping across the tassets of his cuirass. Bruises, at the very least, were in her future, but she didn't seem to notice or care.

Cullen growled and dropped his fists to the table beside her hips, thrusting into her vigorously, head falling to the crook of her neck. He breathed in her scent, the sweat, the faint whiff of vanilla, and something familiar. Him. She still smelled like him. It made him groan, burying his face into her skin, tongue sliding across her frantically beating jugular. The fear of being caught was somehow making the feel of her better, exhilarating. He was so close - he was so close that it was painful.

Hawke let out a keening noise, her cunt tensing around him as she arched, arms tightening around his nape. Cullen felt her nails digging into his neck, the pain dwarfed by the desire welling up within him. He shouted into her throat, the sound muffled as he thrust into her one last time, his seed spilling into her. Cullen pulled out immediately, not allowing himself to be bewitched by her further, and numbly pulled his smalls and breeches back into place. He didn't meet her gaze as she slid off of the desk, righting her clothing. Cullen did notice that Hawke stumbled on her wobbling legs, having to regain her balance by grabbing the nearest chair.

"Come on," he snapped with all of the heat and hatred he felt boiling inside of him. Cullen grabbed her upper arm when her trembling fingers finished fixing her leathers, leading her out of the room. The hallway smelled fresh, clean. Cullen hoped that Meredith did not return until her room had time to air out - as repressed and stern as the woman was, there was no chance that she wouldn't recognize the tang of sex.

They walked in silence until they reached the small wharf. Cullen stopped at the final step and shoved Hawke away from him, watching her stumble down to the wooden dock. She looked back at him, eyes wide and confused. "Andraste's tits, Cullen-"

"Get out of here," he said, proud that his voice was cold and even.

Hawke's face softened as she stepped toward him. One of her hands reached out as if she was going to touch him but he swatted it away. "Cullen-"

"Leave, Hawke," he muttered. "Go ruin someone else's life for a change."

A flicker of pain passed over her face before she bit her lower lip and forced a faint smile. "You know there's no one else I'd rather destroy than you, Cullen." She glanced behind her, at the small boat awaiting her, and cleared her throat. "I suppose I will see you when-"

Cullen turned, gritting his teeth as he walked away. He tried not to be glad at the pain and surprise he'd seen in her expression as he left her there at the waterfront. He tried not to smirk when he noticed blood eking through her leathers around her thighs - a souvenir from his tassets. He tried not to hope that he was destroying her a bit, too.

But he found himself grimacing when he returned to his post, watching as Bethany Hawke glared at him from where she was basking in the cold sunlight. She looked at him as if she knew what had happened, what he had done to her sister.

 _You imagine things,_ he tried to console himself, but the dark feeling of regret surfaced each time he caught Bethany's gaze. Each time he remembered Hawke's startled, saddened face as he left her on the dock.

 

* * *

 

Cullen had done well to avoid Hawke in spite of his body yearning for her nightly. He would think of her without end, picturing her standing on the wharf and watching him as if he had just kicked her war hound. The first few nights, Cullen forced the memory to please him. He would grip his cock and imagine coming all over her displeased face. He would picture slapping her cheeks before forcing her mouth onto him. But as the days dragged out, his will faded, and the regret welled within him. Cullen began to feel sorry for how he had left things. He could have been the bigger man; he could have told her that her actions angered him, that her complete disregard for his profession, for his station, infuriated him.

He could have handled things much better, but there was something about Marian Hawke that made him incapable of doing things properly. Talking things through rationally. Taking things slowly. Demanding mutual respect, not this beastly take and take.

He received his lyrium dose at sundown and, with the liquid courage coursing through his blood, he made his way to Hightown. He had dressed in a warm pair of breeches and tunic, his thick cloak drawn up around his face. He used his key to slip into the side door of Hawke's estate, creeping past the servants' quarters. When he emerged into the main room, the hearth burning high and bright, he found Bodahn, the dwarven steward, and the Guard-Captain, Aveline, deep in conversation.

Aveline's eyes widened, words dying on her lips as her hand fell to the sword strapped to her waist. "This is private property. Identify yourself."

Cullen's breath lodged in his throat. The lyrium was quick to make him think about all of the ways he could get out of this. A dagger to her throat, blood spilling all over the tile and rug. A dagger to Bodahn's throat, securing a hostage. He was interrupted from his thoughts by Captain Wigglesworth bounding down the stairs from Hawke's bedroom, barking happily and rolling at Cullen's feet.

Aveline's eyes narrowed further. "Identify yourself," she repeated, but her hand fell away from her weapon.

Cullen sighed and pushed his hood down, eliciting a surprised noise from Aveline and a, "Oh, messere!" from Bodahn. "Mistress Hawke mentioned she had given you a key. My apologies for not thinking of it sooner."

"She gave him a..." Aveline looked between Bodahn and Cullen incredulously. "What is going on here, Knight-Captain?"

Cullen sighed and glanced up the stairs toward Hawke's room. "I believe that is our business, not yours, Guard-Captain." To Bodahn he added, "No need to apologize. Is she home?"

"I'm afraid not, messere. She has been a bit under the weather as of late. I believe Master Tethras took her out for drinks."

"The Hanged Man," Aveline supplied.

Cullen sighed and nodded. "Guard-Captain, I hope we can rely on your discretion."

Aveline's gem-like eyes glittered in the firelight as she pursed her lips but nodded sharply. As Cullen began to raise his hood and take his leave, she added, "Be careful with her, Knight-Captain."

He almost said that he would never hurt her, but their history together proved him a liar. So he instead replied, "I have no intention of arresting her or turning her over to Meredith if that is your meaning."

Aveline laughed softly. "Hardly. I mean be careful around her. I've seen many men - and some women - lose their wits to her; that doesn't even count the tales I've heard from her time in Ferelden. It never ends well, Rutherford. She is a good woman, but she will always hurt you; she will always leave."

Cullen tried not to let the words sting as he turned to depart.

 

* * *

 

Cullen arrived at the Hanged Man against his better judgment and Aveline's warning. He entered to find a bustling bar full of drunks, loudly singing pirates and a strange jig in the far left corner of the room. He caught sight of Hawke and her merry band of misfits drinking and guffawing at something around their usual table. No one at the table even spared a glanced toward the door as he entered which pleased him more than he expected it would.

Cullen took the moment of invisibility to move toward the bar, pushing his hood down and asking for a bottle of whiskey. Corff handed it over, narrowing his eyes, and muttered, "Not sitting with the Champion tonight?"

"It appears I am leaning here for the moment," he replied curtly, taking the bottle and the stein Corff passed him.

Corff made an annoyed noise. "You leave her alone. She's one of the good ones. Better than you lot."

Cullen raised his eyebrows but decided to let it go. He was feeling strangely generous, even though the lyrium would have loved a fight. Cullen poured some of the bottle into his tankard and took a long pull, wincing as the liquid fire burned down his throat. Corff had retreated to help another customer, leaving Cullen to lean in the corner of the bar, drinking faster than he should.

It only took an hour of drinking before Cullen's eyesight was wavering. He thought of renting a room for the night but wasn't sure there was any feeling worse than waking up alone in the Hanged Man. His throat felt thick with the briny taste of the subpar alcohol, but it was doing a fantastic job of drowning his self-loathing. At least for the moment.

"Hey."

He turned, blinking blearily. It was Hawke standing beside him, waiting for Corff to notice her. She offered him a faint smile - not her usual smirk, something softer. He wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him, or if she sincerely looked nervous.

Corff arrived before Cullen could answer and Hawke murmured, "A round for the table and a whiskey bottle here." She tapped the countertop as if her words weren't clear. Corff frowned at her but passed her a bottle and a mug, calling Norah over to take drinks to Hawke's usual table.

"I can go if you want me to," Hawke said softly, almost too quietly for Cullen to hear. She poured a bit of her whiskey bottle into her stein and took a long pull. Cullen wasn't sure what he wanted. He had wanted to see her before, but now that she was in front of him, acting so timid, he wasn't sure. He wasn't used to this dynamic - having all of the power.

She cleared her throat and pushed off of the bar, hooking the bottle under her arm and the mug in her hand. "I guess I will see you around," she said before turning away.

Cullen grabbed her arm and gently pulled her back to him, her body stumbling a bit and pressing against his. He wasn't sure, but he thought he might have heard her take in a sharp breath as her back fell against his chest. She turned to him slowly but didn't pull away. "One opened up," he said quietly, releasing her hand and motioning toward a small table along the wall. She swallowed and nodded, turning away from him to saunter toward the free table.

Cullen followed Hawke across the bar, sinking into the chair opposite of her. He watched as she poured more whiskey into her mug, her face a careful neutral. "What brings you around?" she asked finally, downing her tankard with a wince and slightly distressed noise.

Cullen, on the other hand, left his mug untouched. He was almost done with his bottle and beginning to feel slightly ill. "I wanted to see you. I stopped by your estate first. Aveline was there."

Hawke snorted and dipped her head slightly, her short locks sliding in front of her face. "So, Aveline knows."

"It seems that way."

"If there is anything left to know," she added, taking another drink. Her eyes finally met his, glassy with alcohol. "What is there to know? What is this?"

Cullen swallowed. He had only had a similar conversation once; when he was sixteen and wooing a barmaid ten years his senior. His answer then had been a lie. _I love you,_ he had said. _I will leave the Order if you wish it._ The barmaid had wished it, and Cullen had never seen her again, too scared to tell her the truth. Too afraid to be a man. Cullen couldn't run from Hawke; their lives in Kirkwall were too entwined, even ignoring their nighttime fraternizations.

"I do not know," he finally said.

She nodded and finished her mug, pouring more whiskey into it. "Fair enough."

They sat in silence, the tension building up between them. Cullen longed to touch her, to trace the long line of her slender neck, to feel the raised scar tissue of the bite mark on her throat. He wanted to see her thighs, to see if she'd gone to a healer. He wanted to see if the bruises he had put on her hips when he'd fucked her ass were still there, still an agonizingly purple bloom.

When the lyrium sang in his veins, fresh and velvety, Cullen wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything. "I think I might be addicted," he said suddenly, meeting her startled gaze. "Not to the lyrium. Not _only_ to the lyrium. To you."

Her smirk was almost genuine when it passed over her lips. She finished her mug and poured more, her hand trembling as she did. She finished the tankard and Cullen covered the mouth of it to stop her from drinking more. She raised an eyebrow at him, uncorking her bottle and pulling directly from the source. Hawke finished the bottle, her throat evidently too numb to feel the sting. When she put the bottle back down, she reached out for his. Cullen swatted her hand away, the familiar annoyance sliding over him. He followed Hawke's lead and tilted the bottle to his lips, finishing the murky liquid inside.

"Stay here," she murmured, getting to her unsteady feet and walking to the bar. Cullen groaned, hoping she wasn't requesting more liquor. He was already having trouble focusing on anything other than Hawke's ruby lipstain. When she returned, she was carrying a key. "Come along," she murmured, helping Cullen to stand. "You can't go back to the barracks like this, and it's late. I don't think either of us could fight if we got attacked on our way to my estate."

The world spun as he followed Hawke toward the stairs leading to the rooms. He ignored the cat-calls from Isabela and the frown from the other members of Hawke's posse. Aveline had joined the table at some point and was rolling her eyes and sighing at the sight of them.

The room Hawke had secured was larger than the last one Cullen had been in, the bed a sprawling affair with blue drapes hanging from the four poster canopy. He admired the thick furs on the bed before Hawke began to tug his breeches off of him. "Hawke, I can't-" he started to protest.

"Neither can I," she replied smoothly, bending down to help with his boots. He wavered for a moment, almost falling, but gripped her shoulders to steady himself. She froze under his hold but smoothed the tension from her body, continuing her work.

She got him undressed and in bed under the furs before tugging at her clothes. Cullen thought he might have heard her tight black tunic rip as she tugged at it, but she didn't seem concerned. He watched as her clothing fell to the floor, joining his, and her pale skin glittered in the warm firelight. Her thighs, Cullen noted drunkenly, were in the process of scarring. They were a deep, dark pink edged with red. They might have gotten infected. She might not have treated them at all. Cullen made a mental note to ask her about them if he ever remembered to and if he was ever able to inspect them closer.

Hawke slid into bed beside him, and he curled his body around hers, pulling her back against his chest and burying his face into her hair. She didn't smell like him anymore - she smelled like flowers. It made something inside of Cullen jolt in disappointment. He had missed inhaling her scent each time his clothing whispered against his skin. He had missed smelling himself on her when they laid together and when they moved together. It was something he had never expected, but something that haunted him each night.

No one had ever told him infatuation could be so messy, so brutal, so full of anger and hate and greed.

 _Infatuation._ The dawning realization punched Cullen in the gut and made the alcohol sour in his stomach. He was infatuated with the Champion of Kirkwall.


	6. Alone Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
> 
> **Chapter Warnings: Adorable fluff and some smut, too. Feelings.**
> 
> Sorry this chapter took so long to get out to you - I've been super ill over the past week and couldn't deal with writing or looking at bright screens much.
> 
> This chapter's song inspiration is ["Alone, Together," by The Strokes.](https://open.spotify.com/track/4UmJMAY5TqXPAnsDW1Mci7) Please enjoy!

* * *

 

**Cullen Rutherford**

Cullen awoke in a daze, his head pounding and his throat burning with the telltale sting of alcohol. He was warm, though, so he knew he wasn't drunk in the barracks, reeling from a night alone at the Hanged Man.

The night's events rushed back to him as he opened his eyes and found Hawke getting dressed, pulling her tunic over her unbound torso. She shook her head when her clothing was situated, hair fluffing, bloodshot eyes landing on him. She looked confused for a moment before forcing a smile. "Headache?"

"A beast of one," he agreed, his voice rasping as he blinked at her. Without thinking, he added, "Come back to bed."

Hawke slid onto the furs and leaned over him, placing a hesitant kiss to his lips. "I have to go," she whispered, smelling like whiskey and him. "We have a lead on another apostate; I would rather get to her before Meredith does."

Cullen groaned, a hand rising to Hawke's nape and drawing her into another kiss. He had missed feeling her skin on his; he had missed breathing in her breath.

Hawke pulled back, her smile more genuine. "I thought that, if you are free tonight, you could... come by?" He nodded faintly, hand slipping from the back of her neck to her jaw. He ran his thumb along her lower lip, and she leaned into the touch, her eyes closing. "I, ah," she murmured, sounding distracted. "I was thinking dinner."

"Dinner?" he repeated, surprised.

She smirked, a bit of her old self emerging through the awkwardness. "What is it, Knight-Captain? Worried I might poison you?"

"I could think of easier ways for you to kill me in the past month," he reminded her, loving how her lips twitched in amusement. "Dinner," he repeated as an affirmative. "Sundown?"

"Sundown," she confirmed. She kissed him once more, lips lingering on his, before pulling back. A hand traced over his chest and through the faint blush of curls there.

And then she was gone, her slender body slipping through the door and leaving him alone, struggling to catch his breath and decide if he had made a terrible mistake. Things were becoming complicated - much more complicated than he had anticipated when it had all began.

 

* * *

 

In spite of his misgivings, Cullen found himself somewhat excited for something as mundane and routine as a dinner date. He had never had one, he realized, and the cognizance made something inside of him regret his choices in the past. How had he never been close enough to a woman to have dinner with her, to buy her flowers? To attempt to woo her with more than an awkward grope or graceless kiss?

He wandered Hightown, watching the sun as it slowly sank. He found Hurbert's tent of wares and, while looking through his stock, asked, "What would you buy a woman who can buy anything she wants? And one who does not fancy trinkets?"

Hubert looked at him incredulously. "Such women do not exist, messere. One or the other, most assuredly, but never both."

Cullen sighed, eyes glancing through the bobbles and finery. "I need something simple. Do you have flowers? Or do you know someone who has flowers?"

Hubert looked as though he thought Cullen was joking. "Flowers?" he repeated. At Cullen's nod, the man sighed. "I have no flowers, but I have something better, messere. How about... this?" Hubert dug through a box full to the brim with glimmering, jeweled trinkets. He found what he was looking for and procured a slender silver chain. At the end of it was a small glass bobble, inside of which was a vibrant, exploding bloom of the brightest red. Its amber stamen seemed to reach out, seeking the world.

"It is a rare, dried Orlesian flower called the Glittering Maiden," Hubert offered as he watched Cullen gaze longingly at the necklace. "It is only found in remote caverns in the Hissing Wastes. Encased in glass, it will never wilt and never fade. I am sure your beloved will appreciate it; every lady needs something pretty around her throat."

"I am not sure if she enjoys jewelry," Cullen admitted. Or if jewelry would be too presumptuous, he admitted to himself. She was hardly his beloved. Having aggressive sex and hurling abusive insults did not seem like a relationship requiring jewelry.

"Everyone appreciates an elegant gift," Hubert chided, putting the necklace in a slender leather box. "Perhaps she has simply never received such a thing before?"

Cullen sighed and withdrew his coin pouch. The necklace was exorbitant but, as Cullen opened the box to take another look at it, well worth the coin. The flower was quite handsome and, he had to admit, it would look stunning against Hawke's sharp collarbones.

Cullen bought two bottles of wine as the sun had lowered to the horizon. With his hands full, he wandered toward Hawke's estate. He arrived in time to see Hawke at her front door, calling for Captain. She caught sight of him and smiled, seeming to know it was him even under the massive hood. "Knight-Captain, how nice to see you. Would you like to come in?" she asked, tone civil but free of real emotion.

He appreciated the gesture - there were still people milling through the square and could see them quite easily. "I have to get back to the barracks, Champion," he began slowly and a bit louder than necessary. He hoped no one looked closely enough to see that he was carrying two large bottles of wine, commodities that were not allowed in the Gallows.

"Just for a moment, to warm yourself," she interjected smoothly. "Have a glass of wine and check for apostates, if you'd like."

The woman couldn't help getting in a jab. Cullen smirked and glanced around. "For a moment, then. Have you lost your hound?" As the words left his lips, Captain charged past him, licking his hand as he did, and skittered inside. Cullen chuckled and followed the dog into the foyer.

Once the door closed, Cullen and Hawke stared at one another for a moment, seeming bewildered. It was confusing, sliding between a professional and personal image. It was also difficult to understand what their personal personas were.

Hawke laughed softly, cutting through the discomfiture, and reached for the wine bottles. "Thank you very much," she said as she took them from him, glancing over the labels. "Maker's balls, Cullen, they must be paying you more than I thought if you're able to afford this."

 _Not really,_ he felt like saying.  _I simply have not had anyone on which to spend money._ But his voice was choked somewhere in his throat with the warring emotions inside of him. He was going to have dinner with a woman he had already seduced and been seduced by; the whole ordeal was so backward that he couldn't decide whether to join her in their cumbersome game of dancing around the issues or run.

He took too long deciding on what to say, what to do, and she turned away from him. She had taken five steps before Cullen removed his cloak in a rush, closing the distance between them to wrap his arms around her waist from behind.

Hawke hesitated in his grasp before giggling delightedly. "Well, I suppose that answers that quandary."

"Thank you," he murmured into her hair. "For... inviting me to dinner."

"Hold your kind words; you haven't tasted it yet. I gave the others the night off and tried my hand at cooking. It might be awful, and I might end up killing us both, but at least you brought us good wine to enjoy first," she added, pulling away from him gently. She cleared her throat before smirking. "Since you are quite intimately acquainted with my kitchen, I assume I don't need to lead you in?"

Cullen laughed and felt the vice around his heart loosen. She was teasing - that was a good sign. He strode into the kitchen, sparing a moment to touch the box still stuffed in his tunic. He wasn't sure when the right time to give a woman jewelry was; perhaps over dinner? Perhaps during wine?

"What do you have there?" she asked when they stood across the long table from one another, Cullen uncorking a bottle while Hawke wiped down two chalices with a clean cloth. She was staring pointedly at the outline of the box.

"A... gift."

She raised an eyebrow before grinning. "Intriguing," she murmured, going back to the glasses. She said nothing else about it for the rest of the night, even when tipsiness had descended on her and loosened her lips.

"Who was your first love?" Hawke asked, wiggling in her seat at the small table in the back of the kitchen. They had finished off an entire fish - which had been delicious and not at all deadly - and a bottle of wine, the second uncorked and breathing between them. There was also a small chocolate cake on the table, but neither Hawke nor Cullen had shown any signs of wanting it.

Cullen winced and shook his head. "Pass. Next."

"No," she groaned, leaning back in her seat. "Come now; it must not be too terrible. Here, I will answer first and give you time to collect yourself." She cleared her throat, finishing her glass of wine before pouring another. "Alright. He was a dairy hand at a nearby farm."

Cullen couldn't help snickering. At her raised brows he covered his eyes with a hand. "I just cannot picture you, Champion of Kirkwall, as a dairy hand's wife. Milking cows and churning butter all day," he chuckled, pouring more wine for himself.

Hawke scrunched her nose up at him. "I will have you know that I would have gladly played farm maid for the rest of my life if it meant being with Willam. But, of course, the Blight had to ruin it. He was sweet and handsome and amazing in the hay," she added with an eyebrow wiggle.

Cullen leaned forward on his elbows, watching her carefully. "Sweet? You have never seemed to enjoy sweetness, Champion."

"Cullen, there are a lot of things I fancy that you might not be able to fathom," was her amused response, finishing her glass of wine and pouring another.

Cullen drank his glass down, as well, refilling it. "How was this Willam handsome?"

"Chiseled face," she began, looking up at the stone ceiling dreamily. "Brown eyes that glittered in the sunset. Strong arms, big enough to make me fear for my life sometimes. _Oh, Maker,_  and that _voice._  Like velvet."

Cullen tried to ignore the prickle of jealousy that fluttered over his skin. "Mine was a mage; one of my wards in the Ferelden Circle," he said suddenly, startling her out of her Willam revelry. "Nothing ever happened between us so I cannot attest to her skills in the hay, as you say, but she was sweet. She was beautiful. Long brown hair, green eyes, a smile that could melt ice."

Hawke's face softened. "Did you lose her during the Blight, too? When the Tower fell?"

Cullen swallowed. "I did. I would have lost her even had the Circle not fallen," he admitted bitterly. "She helped one of her friends, a blood mage, escape and was sentenced to become Tranquil."

Hawke shuddered and rubbed her arms as if a chill had taken her. "Bethany says that is a fate worse than death." She met his gaze, seeming much less amused, seeming sad. "I am so sorry, Cullen."

"And I for you," Cullen murmured, not meaning it but knowing it was the proper thing to say. But he was not sorry; if things hadn't happened the way they had, their paths would have never crossed. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Your dwarven storyteller has a new tale about you, I've heard. Something about a high dragon attack at the Bone Pit?"

Hawke snorted, drinking down her wine. "Please tell me he has changed the story, because if it were to get out that I lost my tunic to its fire-"

"You what?" he laughed, unable to help it.

"Mmhmm. My tunic caught fire under my leathers, and I had to tear it all off in front of everyone. To add insult to injury, I had to borrow Varric's much-too-large shirt which, let me say, looks much better on his broad chest than my tiny one. Luckily I wore a breast band that day or else all of Lowtown and Hightown would have been able to see my best assets."

Cullen smirked, eyes lowering along her throat to her clavicle, wishing he could see those assets under her thin tunic. "I wouldn't say your best," he finally murmured, sipping from his chalice.

Her eyebrows shot up, and she giggled. "No? Praytell, Knight-Captain, which asset of mine do you fancy the most?"

Where to begin? Cullen mused. "You know you are a handsome woman, Hawke. Begging for compliments is beneath you."

She pretended to be annoyed, but her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Alright then, Rutherford. What is your least favorite asset of mine?"

He didn't even have to think about it. "You're smug and full of yourself. You also believe that you are funnier and wittier than you are."

She placed a hand on her chest, feigning hurt. "Cullen, you wound me!"

"What is your least favorite asset of mine?" he pressed, knowing it would probably be a terrible idea.

She worried her lower lip for a moment before answering plainly, "The lyrium."

"What?"

"The lyrium. It makes you moody. It makes you overthink and second guess yourself. It makes you volatile one moment and weakened the next. I am no healer, Cullen, but I would bet sovereigns that all of this lyrium is going to kill you if you keep at it."

"Quitting the lyrium would kill me faster," he argued even though he felt the truth in her words. He had seen older templars give into paranoia, their need for lyrium ever increasing, untiring in their quest for more clarity and strength that eluded them.

Hawke let out a small sigh and leaned onto the table, reaching out to cover one of his hands with hers. "I am not judging you, Cullen. You will do what you feel is right. For what it is worth, I trust you. You're the only reason I haven't broken into the Circle and liberated my sister. She says you treat the mages well. She says you keep the templars in line. If you need lyrium to continue protecting mages like my sister, then... I support it."

Cullen swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to say. She was sweetness personified. She was earnest and brimming with sympathy. "Are you... are you well?" he asked suddenly, unable to filter the confusion out of his voice.

She chuckled and tilted her head to the side, smirking. "Hardly. I might still be a little addled from the dragon fight; I had brain swelling, you know. And two broken ribs, a fractured collarbone, and three slipped disks. I was in Anders' clinic for four days."

Cullen's eyes widened. "I have seen you since the attack! How did you not tell me sooner?"

She cleared her throat, sipping her wine. "I got out the same day I came to see Meredith. I... I am sorry for what I did."

He swallowed and nodded, watching her shift in uncharacteristic discomfort. "I should not have acted the way I did, either," he murmured finally. "If I am honest...." He trailed off, wondering if he should finish the words he was about to utter.

She perked up, her dark smile stretching into place. "I do enjoy honesty, Rutherford."

Cullen let out a heavy sigh, knowing he was going to regret it. "It was a thrill. We could have been jailed, stripped of our titles, or killed," he added sternly when Hawke's eyes sparkled with excitement, "but... it was enjoyable."

"Should fucking on your boss' desk become our new pastime?" she teased, and Cullen felt his cheeks heat in an unexpected flush. She mistook the reaction and sobered, worrying her lower lip. "Sorry. I am trying to be good, I swear."

Cullen chuckled, finishing his wine before getting to his feet. He took her hands in his and guided her out of her chair, tilting her chin up to look at him. "This might be an exercise in futility. We might not be suited to being good, Hawke."

"Probably not," she agreed with a little laugh, stretching up to meet his lips with hers. Hawke tasted like wine, his windburned lips stinging with the acidic touch. He didn't mind the slight pain and wrapped his arms around her slender waist, pulling her against him. Cullen relished how thin her tunic was, some kind of silk that somehow radiated with her body heat, that felt as though he was touching her skin directly.

His fingers began to pull her tunic up and over her head when he hesitated, letting it drop back into place. Hawke frowned up at him, seeming confused and a bit hurt. Cullen shook his head, caressing a thumb pad over her jaw. "We are trying to be good," he murmured.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Being good doesn't mean we can't have sex," she argued gently, her hands fiddling with the strings of his breeches.

Cullen maneuvered away from her hands and tried again. "Not here, not on the table. Upstairs."

Hawke smiled and nodded, pulling away from him. She grabbed a few candles from the foyer as she passed through. Her room was dark and cold; Cullen worked on getting the fireplace burning while Hawke lit the multitude of candles spread around her chamber. They met in the middle when they both finished, hands sliding over one another, tugging at clothing, lips meeting and parting like the sea against the coast. Cullen made quick work of undressing Hawke, needing to see her flesh, needing to feel her warmth against him. She was still struggling with his breeches, her fingers trembling, so he pulled his tunic off for her.

The box with the necklace fell to the ground, and Cullen's heart stuttered. Hawke's fingers faltered on his breeches, glancing down at the box and then up to Cullen's surprised expression. She went back to his trousers without a word, fingers finally getting them undone and pushing them down his legs. His smalls followed suit and Hawke lingered, kissing along his hardening cock.

Cullen groaned but pulled away from her, trying not to get distracted. She had seen the box; she knew there was a gift inside of it. He couldn't focus on their time together while worrying about the little box, worrying about her assumptions. He ducked down to grab the box and nodded toward the bed. "Sit," he requested softly.

Hawke's grin was off, slightly anxious. "You do not plan on asking me to be your wife, I should hope," she teased as she made her way to the bed, sitting on the edge. "I am flattered, Rutherford, but I don't even know your middle name!"

He smiled faintly and stepped toward her, opening the box and turning it for her to inspect. The glass bobble reflected the light, the blood-red bloom inside shimmering in its splendor. He watched Hawke's face turn from blank to surprised, her eyes raising to his. She looked stunned. "Is this...?"

Cullen turned her slightly so he could clasp the necklace around her neck. Her hand rose to the talisman immediately, fingering the jewelry hesitantly as if it might shatter. When he finished securing it, she turned to him, looking confused and lost. "I... don't know what to say."

"Say nothing," he replied, taking her face in his hands and kissing her. She melted into the touch, her hands going to his waist and pulling him down to her. She wiggled up the bed, dragging him with her, their lips never separating. Cullen laid across her, making sure not to crush her as he rested on his elbows, hands cradling her neck. She was already moaning softly into his mouth, her hands smoothing along his sides, caressing his hips, and then gripping his ass firmly, nails biting into his skin. Cullen hissed but did not break away from her.

It was always different with her, each time they were together, but something felt especially strange now. Their bodies had always pressed together effortlessly, had always slid around each other pleasantly, but now she felt as though she was a part of him, merged.

Cullen hadn't even really noticed when Hawke angled her hips and spread her legs to the side, pressing herself into his erection. But suddenly he was inside of her, her warmth enveloping him like a glove. Cullen groaned and broke free of the kiss, head falling to her neck where he licked a trail from her jaw to her clavicle. His tongue passed over the silver of her necklace, and he shuddered, not sure if it was because of the cold metal or the emotions welling within him.

"I don't..." he stammered suddenly, pausing his thrusts to pull back slightly and stare into her confused eyes. He floundered for words, mouth opening and closing like a fish. What was this feeling? This sudden embarrassment that flooded him, making his cheeks flame in more than passion. "I... I don't hate you. Not really."

She smiled softly, a hand raising to his cheek and caressing across the stubble of his jaw. "I know," she murmured, her hips bucking gently and making him buzz with pleasure. "Let's try to keep up appearances though, yes?"

"Of course," Cullen breathed before pulling out of her, his lips tracking down her sternum, licking her breasts, sucking her nipples, before dipping down to her navel. Hawke bucked her hips against his chin as he slowly traced a winding, meandering path to her core. Cullen's tongue found her nub; it was hot to the touch, pulsing with need. His fingers slid inside of her, one finger crooked to press into her most sensitive spot, the other thrusting into her, bringing groans and soft shouts from her mouth as her hands fisted his hair, fingers scraping his scalp as they scrabbled for purchase in the short waves.

"Cullen," she whispered, his name lengthening around the middle, her tone rising in pitch with each pass of his tongue, with each suck on her clitoris. "Cullen, don't stop, please," she moaned.

Always one to tease her, though, his mouth left her warmth. "Tell me," he ordered gently, lips brushing her labia as he did.

"What?" she sputtered, close to undone, hanging on the edge of release and a collapsing desire.

"Tell me you want me. Only me." The possessiveness shocked him; the need to know she felt the same for him as he did for her. For some reason, he could not imagine being with another woman like this. He could not imagine delighting in someone else's voice, their body, as he did with Marian Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall. The one woman he wasn't supposed to want.

Hawke was writhing beneath him, her voice cracking as she uttered, "Cullen, I want you. I _need_ you. _Please-"_

"Only me?" Cullen pressed, his index finger rubbing harder over the bundled muscle within her.

"Yes!" Hawke shouted, her body shuddering with her need. "Cullen, please, _please,_ I need-"

Cullen's lips fell to her once more, sucking her nub into his mouth, teeth gently raking over her and making her shout in ecstasy. Hawke's fingers tightened harshly and, had he not been too enamored with his effect on her, he might have winced at the pain. But as it was, Cullen was buried between his legs, fucking her with his fingers for all he was worth, his tongue sliding sharp flicks and sucking at her molten clit until Hawke let out a cutting keen, shuddering and writhing beneath him. Her hands had slipped from his hair to his shoulders, her nails biting into him.

Hawke had barely had time to come down from her shattering orgasm when she sat up quickly, grabbing at Cullen and dragging him toward the headboard. She pushed him into it, climbing onto his lap with no preamble. Hawke's hips rocked against his cock, flaming it into life in an instant. She took him into her, her small hands gripping Cullen's wrists, pressing them up against the wall, holding him in place as she took him. Hawke's breasts shoved into his chest, her nipples like small daggers against his skin, dragging across him, against him, away from him. Cullen gasped past the desire choking him as he watched her, her eyelids fluttering down to her cheeks, the dark crescents against her milky face somehow hypnotic.

"Open your eyes," he growled.

Hawke's lids parted, her pale gaze meeting his, her mouth quirked slightly. "Going romantic on me?" she teased gently, hands tightening on his wrists.

It was too late for that. Hawke had gone romantic the instant she had asked him to dinner. Cullen had gone romantic the moment he had stopped at Hubert's tent, bought the necklace, and then placed it around her slender throat.

"When did you realize?" he asked suddenly, gasping as he felt his release attempting to sweep over him.

"Stop talking," she ordered, smacking his wrists against the wall. Her eyes were closed again, her panting erratic. She was close; she was so close that Cullen could almost taste her orgasm on his tongue.

"When did you realize you loved me?" he pressed, voice hot and thick.

Hawke's sex tightened around him, almost painfully, and she wheezed past her second orgasm. Her head fell to his shoulder as she rode him slowly, working out the sharp, searing feeling coursing through her. When her body relaxed, Cullen broke free of her hold and tossed her off of him. Hawke yelped at the sudden force of his hands as he positioned himself behind her, hands gripping into her waist, dragging her back onto his cock.

"When?" he pressed.

"Cullen, don't," she grumbled between labored breaths. "Don't make this... _that._ Just stop talking!"

Cullen shoved himself into her harder, faster, forcing rough, angry bursts of moans from her mouth. Each press of his body against hers, each dig of his fingers into her supple hips repeated his question. _When? When? When?_

"When you left me on the dock!" she finally shouted as if it was a curse - as if he had tortured the answer out of her. And perhaps he had. Cullen slowed his pace and caressed a hand along her back, and she arched up into it, a soft, pleased sigh sliding from her lips.

Cullen rolled her over smoothly and pressed into her, gently pushing his body against hers, watching her pale gaze as it met his, unblinking. Hawke didn't shirk from his stare; she reached up and caressed his face, and her body arched into him.

He came without warning, shuddering and gasping, her arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him down to kiss her. Cullen wasn't sure how long their lips caressed one another's, how long he kept himself balanced in spite of the shakiness of his limbs. But eventually, Hawke guided him down to the bed and curled into his side, her face nestled in the crook of his arm. Hawke held him loosely, occasionally kissing his shoulder and chest, tongue languidly flicking against his nipple.

"When did you know?" she asked finally, her voice tinged with sleep and something close to contentment.

He thought about the question. He had anticipated it, but that didn't mean he'd prepared for it. He thought back onto their tumultuous relationship. He thought back on their time together, their bodies coiling mindlessly, no emotion attached. And then, somewhere along the way, the emotionless wasn't emotionless.

"When I couldn't make love to another woman," he admitted finally.

She nodded and yawned, her arm tightening around his waist. "This changes things, doesn't it?"

He didn't want to admit that she was right, that it did change everything. He didn't want to admit that, not right then. So he kissed her forehead and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer, dipping into sleep.


	7. Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
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>  
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> **Chapter Warnings: Slight mention of wounds and blood. Nothing too extreme, though, I promise! Feelings, as usual.**
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> 
> This chapter's inspiration song is actually a really odd one, in comparison to how to chapter ended up, but somehow it stuck around in my head. ["I'm Ready," by Jack's Mannequin.](https://open.spotify.com/track/14j8oibNCBaZfA1awesz3W) Please enjoy!

* * *

 

 

**Cullen Rutherford**

Cullen was startled from his deep sleep by Hawke lurching out of his arms, sitting up so suddenly that Cullen's arm fell to her lap with a sudden, sickening jolt.

"What?" Hawke snapped. Cullen bristled, not realizing she wasn't talking to him.

"I'm so sorry, mistress, but the Knight-Commander is here looking for Messere Rutherford. I told her as you said - that he isn't here, but she is insistent on searching the estate."

Cullen got out of bed with more speed and purpose than he had expected. He dressed quickly, hissing when he realized his cloak was in the foyer, probably still in a crumpled heap. "My cloak-"

Hawke was also out of bed, tossing a thin dressing gown over her naked body, running a hand through her short hair. "Bodahn, is Orana-"

"Waiting for the messere in the cellar."

"Perfect." Hawke moved toward Cullen, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a quick, deep kiss. "The cellars let out into Darktown. I have a weapons rack by the exit, take some daggers at the very least. There are too many people there who would love to murder a templar without armor."

Cullen returned the kiss quickly before pulling away. "She will not hurt you," he said, not sure why he said it. Perhaps to convince himself.

"Not yet," she joked humorlessly, patting his ass to get him moving. "Go on, Bodahn will take you down the back stairs. I..." she hesitated, the words floundering in her mouth before she sighed. "I will see you later."

Cullen nodded, following Bodahn quickly and quietly. The slender set of back stairs was hidden behind a bookcase at the end of the balcony landing, saddled up between what was once Hawke's mother's room and Hawke's large bathing room. Cullen made a note of which book opened the secret passage and made his escape quickly. As Bosahn had said, Orana was waiting for him at the bottom of the steps, holding his rumpled cloak. "Messere," she greeted somberly, handing him his cloak. "This way."

 

* * *

 

**Marian Hawke**

Hawke ambled down the steps into the main room, yawning loudly to announce her arrival, tugging her nearly sheer dressing gown around her. If Meredith wanted to crash into her home at sunrise, Hawke was damn sure going to attempt to make the woman uncomfortable. "Knight-Commander?" she called, making sure her tone was still bleary, that her eyes were heavy-lidded.

Knight-Commander Meredith gracefully sauntered into the main room from the foyer where she had waited respectfully. She glanced over Hawke, her tight lips turning up into an unsatisfied sneer. "I apologize for the early hour, Champion, but I seem to have lost one of my charges."

"And you hoped to find them in my home?" she chuckled good-naturedly, sweeping past Meredith and toward the kitchen. Orana had already heated water for tea, so Hawke went about making a cup, completely at ease even though Meredith's eyes were boring holes between her shoulder blades. "Tea, Knight-Commander? We have a lovely black blend from somewhere in the Anderfels, I think. It really wakes you up on these cold mornings."

"Your hospitality is noted, Champion, but I would rather search your estate."

Hawke shrugged nonchalantly. Cullen should have had more than enough time to slip through the hidden door by now. Even if Meredith found it, she would be too far behind to catch up to him. "Suit yourself, Knight-Commander. Although it would be nice to know who your missing charge is and why you assume they are in my home?"

"Walk with me while I look, then," Meredith sighed, turning from the room. Her cloak swooped around her and Hawke took a moment to admire how she commanded the cloth so effortlessly. Hawke was a little jealous, to be honest.

Meredith scoured the library and the servants' quarters, ignoring Captain as he bounded around her, barking his annoyance. Hawke could have silenced him if she wanted, but she was loving the sharp lines forming on Meredith's pretty face as her irritation grew.

"Knight-Captain Cullen has been spending much of his free time outside of the Gallows. We had a meeting scheduled this morning with all of the men, and he failed to be present. I had assumed he was drunk at the Hanged Man, but when I arrived, Norah told me the most interesting thing."

_Shit._

"She said," Meredith continued, turning to meet Hawke's eyes and hold her gaze, "that Knight-Captain Cullen had been seen there recently. Mostly in your company."

Hawke wanted to swallow. There was a sudden influx of saliva in her mouth, and her eyes were even beginning to water. She didn't like this; trapped between a rock and Meredith the fucking Knight-Commander of Kirkwall. The only thing to do was play it cool. "We've shared some games of Wicked Grace, yes," Hawke shrugged simply. "My friend, Isabela, is quite taken with him and, for my part at least, it's hard not to appreciate the view Isabela offers when she is excited."

Meredith's lips twitched - not in the scowl Hawke had expected, but in a satisfied smirk. "I heard it was not your pirate accomplice who spends the night with him on occasion. Or you, for that matter."

Hawke kept her breathing in check somehow. "Why, Meredith. I wasn't aware the Knight-Commander kept such close tabs on her second. Such behavior might suggest you do not trust the Knight-Captain."

Meredith moved toward the stairs, crossing into Leandra's old room first. Hawke loitered in the hallway, jaw clenched. She still hadn't been inside since her mother passed. She couldn't force herself to enter. It killed her a bit inside to have the Knight-Commander rooting through her mother's things.

When Meredith emerged, she glanced toward Hawke's room. "This is yours, I assume?"

"It is," Hawke murmured. "Don't mind the mess, I was startled awake this morning and had little time to tidy."

"Of course, Champion," Meredith said, "I will try not to disturb anything."

Hawke followed her into the room and cursed softly to herself when she found Meredith examining the gift box on her side table. Hawke almost reached up to her pendant, almost gave herself away, when Meredith turned to her. "Buy something nice for yourself?"

Hawke cleared her throat and sipped her tea. "I'm not sure how questions about my money spending practices help find your Knight-Captain."

"True enough, were you the one to buy it," Meredith admitted. She glanced over the bed and Hawke was glad that the firm mattress didn't show the intents of two bodies - just haphazard sheets and blankets. There was a white stain on the red bedding, however, and Hawke's cheeks flushed. She hid it by taking another gulp of her steaming tea.

"Do you have a lover, Champion?" Meredith asked suddenly. She turned her pale eyes onto Hawke's. "I always found it strange that a capable, handsome woman such as yourself never seemed to form intimate entanglements. You have no end of admirers, of course, many of which are in my ranks. Quite a few of which are in Orsino's."

"So much interest in little old me," Hawke chuckled, leaning back on her left leg, trying to appear composed. "I prefer to go where the wind takes me, Knight-Commander. Being tied down is acceptable in bed, but rarely in life."

Meredith blinked but remained stony-faced. "Has the wind taken you to my Knight-Captain, Hawke?"

Hawke remained silent for a moment, realizing that it would only confirm Meredith's suspicions. Even so, Hawke was beginning not to care. The forced-pleasantries of Meredith's interrogation was getting tiresome. "There is still the bathing chamber if you want to check each room," Hawke said simply, turning from her bedroom and walking back into the hall.

Meredith glanced into the bathing room and grunted something. "Any hidden rooms, hallways, passages?"

"Why, Knight-Commander, whose mansion has hidden passageways?" Hawke said with mock incredulity, a hand to her heart. She sipped her tea and murmured, "If that is all, I would ask that you leave. I am tired and, quite honestly, too cranky for such irksome visits."

Meredith's lips tilted into an annoyed smile, but she nodded and descended the stairs quickly. Hawke leaned against the banister, watching her leave, but Meredith turned just as she passed under the arch leading toward the foyer. "You know, Champion, you have a rather nice life here in Kirkwall. I would hate to see it made difficult for you."

Hawke suppressed the chill that tried to run down her spine, instead raising her teacup in a mock salute. "Maker forbid I am ambushed at regular intervals by every faction in Kirkwall, beset on all sides by politics, and harassed at sunrise over a missing templar. Oh, wait...."

Meredith left without another word, and Hawke let out a sigh, sagging into the wood railing and cursing herself. The tension in the city was at a boiling point, and Meredith was on the warpath, looking for blood.

Hawke's blood, evidently.

_Fantastic._

 

* * *

 

**Cullen Rutherford**

Cullen spent the rest of his day wandering through Lowtown, perusing shops and trying to appear as if not hunted by the most powerful woman in Kirkwall. He wasn't sure what Hawke would say to her; Hawke was excellent at getting out of tight situations, but Meredith had been interrogating people for her entire life. There was little that the fierce blonde woman couldn't sniff out if she were trying.

Cullen made his way to the Hanged Man, much to Corff's obvious displeasure. Before he could take a seat at the bar and order whiskey, Hawke's dwarven friend, the storyteller, waved him over. Cullen wasn't sure if he should be in the company of Hawke's known comrades, but he also wasn't sure if it mattered. There was no law against who he kept as friends, so long as they were not enemies of the crown. And, at least for now, the Champion and her cohorts were far from that.

Cullen made his way to the oddly-empty table, sitting beside the dwarf. "Varric Tethras," he greeted, more on guard than he had expected to be.

"Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford," Varric grinned, leaning back in his chair. He motioned toward Norah to bring a round over before turning his easy smile back to Cullen. "Never too early to drink, is it?  
Anyway, I hear you and Hawke are getting close. I told her not to do it, but I suppose she sees something in you the rest of us can't."

Cullen bit back his annoyance. The lyrium flared, wanting nothing more than to hit the smug face before him. "Hawke is old enough to make her own decisions."

"True, no matter how awful," he chuckled, thanking Norah as she deposited two drinks before them - ale, thin and barely foaming. Cullen's nose wrinkled at it, but he took a dutiful sip anyway, wincing at the watery excuse for alcohol.

"Awful, huh?" Varric chuckled. "I was in Tantervale recently - well, a few years back. Best ale I've ever tasted. They do something to it during the brewing process, something with thick honey from this special species of bee. Anyway, it's sublime. I keep telling Hawke I'm going to take her there, let her taste exalted alcohol for once. But you know Hawke - whatever gets her drunk fastest, that's what she likes."

Cullen hadn't known that. He has suspected - she spent her time at the Hanged Man, after all, and their drinks were notoriously bad. There was something in the dwarf's tone, though. Something dark and almost threatening. Cullen drank his ale and pondered it for a few moments. Finally, it all made sense. "You love her."

Varric chuckled, shaking his head. "Everyone loves her, Curly. It's impossible not to."

Cullen shook his head. It was more than that, and he said as much. Varric shrugged, noncommital, before looking past Cullen and toward the door. "Well, it looks like someone has been looking for you."

Cullen glanced toward the door, half expecting it to be Hawke. The woman was like a mabari in her ability to track him down. But it was Meredith, lips pursed, arms crossed, waiting for Cullen to join her.

Cullen sighed and nodded to Varric. "Thanks for the drink."

"I would say _anytime,_ but I have a reputation to keep. Drinking with templars isn't part of it," he teased softly before nodding a goodbye.  
  
Cullen made his way to Meredith, steeling himself for a fight. The woman only scowled at him before muttering, "Really, Rutherford, I expected better from you. Marian Hawke is hardly the type to take for a wife, wouldn't you agree?"

"No one said anything about marriage," was Cullen's only response. Meredith didn't seem pleased with it, but Cullen was surprised to find that he didn't give a shit.

 

* * *

**Spring, 9:37 Dragon**

**Marian Hawke**

It had been months since Hawke had seen Cullen. She had expected as much - no doubt Meredith was keeping him busy and quarantined in the Gallows, lest Hawke's influence _continue to corrupt him._ Even so, she despised the sickening loneliness his absence had instilled in her. She would touch the pendant around her neck and try to feel a memory of his warmth, of his presence, but all she felt was the bauble, smooth and warmed by her skin.

She had received letters from him throughout the months. They were always short, clipped words about the tensions rising in the Gallows, about how his own frustrations were mounting, and about the increase in lyrium the templars were receiving.

 _My portions have been doubled,_ one of his letters lamented. _I am so angry, M. I am so angry all of the time. It is becoming harder to control the others, to keep them from abusing their stations. I found myself enjoying Meredith berating Orsino yesterday. I do not understand what is becoming of me. I do not trust myself. But I promise you this - your sister is safe. I will not let anyone harm her._

The few times Hawke had gone to the Gallows, she was barred entrance. "By invitation only, Champion," a templar had growled at her. "The mages are becoming restless. We would hate to see something terrible happen to you here."

So she had returned to Hightown and went about answering numerous summons from locals needing her assistance. She drank at the Hanged Man, moping more than she cared to admit, making both Varric and Isabela tease her mercilessly. And then she would return home to her large, empty bed and think of him.

It wasn't until the frosts were beginning to melt off of the cobblestones when she was awoken by strong hands on her shoulders, shaking her from her wine-induced haze. Hawke pushed the hands away, blinking blearily through the murkiness in her bedroom. "Bodahn?"

"No."

Hawke sat up quickly, taking in the haggard face of the man who had haunted her dreams for months. "Cullen? What-"

He lit a candle on her bedside quickly, and she gasped, taking in his hollow cheeks and his bloodshot eyes. He looked as though his skin was trying to melt into his skull. His eyes were vacant; the cool sparkling amber was dark and dull. "Maker, Cullen, what-"

"She's gone mad," Cullen insisted, shaking his head in a strange mixture of confusion and anger. "I do not know what to do. She's been threating Anullment for weeks. No one believed her, but now-"

"Cullen, what are you talking about?" she asked, grabbing his arms. She could feel the anxious energy in his body, making him tremble under her fingers. He was terrified.

"The Chantry's gone," he spat out, shaking his head. "Exploded. It was your mage friend, and he's escaped Kirkwall somehow. Meredith is going to raze the city looking for him, and she is going to take every mage down with it. And you. Andraste, Hawke, she's calling for your blood. She thinks you helped him."

Hawke's mind whirled. Her mage friend? The Chantry?

It all clicked into place in an instant. Anders. The strange ingredients he had her procure. The request for her to distract Grand Cleric Elthina while he did Maker-knew-what.

_I suppose we know what now._

Hawke allowed herself ten seconds to panic. Her sister was in danger. _Everyone_ was in danger. Meredith had never been a shining example of mental health, but now? With mages blowing up the Chantry? Cullen was right. She would burn the city to the ground.

Hawke flung herself out of bed; her adrenaline pushed out her hangover headache more quickly than a healing spell could. She dressed quickly, shrugging into her leathers and sliding her daggers into their sheaths on her back. "I need to gather the others-"

"I notified Varric, he is assembling the others and heading to the Gallows as we speak," Cullen interrupted. "There is a swath of templars and mages between us and the Gallows - we will have to be quick and quiet to avoid them. There is no way we alone can stand against them all."

Hawke swallowed and nodded. "We can take the passage to Darktown and fight our way through from there." She set her jaw and watched Cullen closely for a long moment before crossing the distance between them, kissing him. "If this is it...."

"It isn't," Cullen whispered harshly, pressing a bruising kiss to her lips. "This is not the end. I will stab your corpse myself if you even think of dying on me."

Hawke tried to smile, but it would not come. She nodded and swallowed, blinking back the angry tears threatening to blur her vision. They would make it through this. Maker, they'd made it through the Qunari attack. How could Meredith ever compete? "Let's get to it, then."

 

* * *

 

**Cullen Rutherford**

Cullen stood beside Hawke as she protected the mages. It felt wrong, raising his sword against his lyrium-crazed brothers-in-arms. But he did it because she needed his help. She had already lost her elven warrior to her choice of siding with the mages. She had lost her Chantry Brother archer who was returning to Starkhaven to mount an army to track down Anders.

And she had lost Anders. Her healer. The one person who could have saved them at the moment.

Cullen knew he was losing blood from the gash that had slid between his plates. He felt it pulsing with each pump of his heart. But he couldn't give up. He couldn't fall and leave her to face this terror alone.

Cullen's addled brain had no time to admire how beautiful she looked, spattered in blood, daggers whirling. She ignored the mass of templars still loyal to Meredith and focused everything on attacking the blonde woman. Meredith was holding her own but losing steam quickly, the glowing red of her lyrium-addled eyes flickering, her breath heaving out in sharp gasps. The only thing that seemed to be keeping her going was the awful sword, the awful corruption flowing from it to her.

"You can't win, Champion!" she shouted above the turmoil. Cullen could hear it over the sound of blades, the racket of screams, the shouts from Hawke's companions, calling out positions and enemies. Above it all, there was Meredith's voice. Booming, all-consuming.

Hawke didn't answer her taunts. She was too busy whirling around the older woman, her feet moving too quickly for Cullen to follow in the brief moments he as able to look at her.

Cullen had been pinned down by two templars when it happened. He heard a sharp, keening cry and knew it was Hawke. He sliced a gash through one templar's exposed throat, the other falling like a sack of bricks when Cullen shoved his sword through the man's plates, tearing a four-inch gash into his hip.

Finally freed, Cullen glanced around frantically for Hawke. She was stumbling, dazed like a wounded bird, around Meredith's prone figure. One of her daggers had imbedded in the woman's forehead; the other was still clutched in one of Hawke's hands, though it was slowly slipping from the bloody appendage.

Hawke's free fingers held her abdomen, clutching uselessly at the torn skin.

There was blood everywhere. There was too much blood even to fathom. Cullen ran to her, taking her in his arms and lowering her to the ground. She was heavy in his arms, her eyes unfocused and sliding around, taking in the darkened sky and the falling ash from the Chantry explosion.

"Hawke," Cullen hissed, shaking her. She lolled like a ragdoll, her neck barely able to support her head. "Marian," he tried.

Her eyes slid to his, still unfocused, but she smiled wearily. "Hey there."

Bethany was on their side then, lowering to the ground and reaching her hands out to her sister's belly. A soft, green glow flooded from the mage into Hawke and Hawke cried out, arching off of Cullen's lap and nearly falling to the blood-streaked marble.

"Hold her," Bethany ordered him sharply. Her hands lowered to the wound, the green fluttering past all of the crimson, all of the ruby still pumping from her.

"There's too much damage," Varric said. The usually unflappable dwarf's hands were shaking as he put his crossbow away. His voice shuddered. "Bethany, you need help. You need-"

"Healers!" Bethany shouted, looking around distractedly. "Healers, to me!"

There were so few mages left, most caught up in Orsino's madness, but the ones that crept forward were hesitant to help. Bethany shouted at them a few more times and, finally, they approached, anxiously glancing between the remaining templars and Cullen.

"Devin, work on this bit," Bethany ordered, motioning to a thinner dip in the wound. A small boy, no older than ten, lowered himself on the other side of Cullen, his phosphorescent hands sliding across the wound. "Mallory, to me. Help with this."

The older woman came swiftly, her hands joining Bethany's in the thickest part of the wound. Hawke's howling had died off, her glassy eyes staring into Cullen's.

"Distract her," Bethany muttered, and Cullen started, realizing that she was speaking to him.

"Marian," he murmured, oddly pleased to see her brows knitted together, to see her try to focus on him. "You have to stay awake. I know this hurts you, but-"

"Doesn't hurt," she mumbled, the words slurring together. "Everything is so... fuzzy. Cullen, I'm sorry."

"No," he whispered, leaning down to coo at her, to make her see him. "No, there is no reason for apologies. You saved Kirkwall."

She snorted and then coughed, blood flecking across Cullen's chin as she did. She shook her head as best as she could before grumbling, "Last I checked, it was my fault the entire city caught fire for the second time since I moved in. Oh, and the mages rebelled. That's on me, too."

"It would have happened anyway," Cullen replied before wincing. That had probably not been the best defense. Even so, he could tell she was fading quickly and jostled her slightly, her eyes snapping open. "Stay with me."

"I can't," she whispered. "I need to... I need to sleep. Everything is so warm."

"Marian, listen to me," Bethany snapped suddenly, "we are doing everything to keep your insides inside you, but you need to stay awake. Listen to your foolish lover and stop trying to die."

Hawke chuckled, more blood whetting her lower lip. "You told her?"

"He told me nothing, you idiot; you're simply that obvious."

"Hawke-" Cullen began, but Hawke interrupted him.

"What... what is your middle name, Rutherford?"

Cullen blinked, stunned for a moment, before answering quickly, "Stanton."

She grinned sloppily. "Cullen Stanton Rutherford. I like it. Regal." Her head lolled for a moment, making panic spike through Cullen's heart, but she righted herself after a moment, clearing her throat and wincing. "Oh, I felt that. Whoever is poking around my guts, be a little more subtle about it."

"Mind your own business, Sister," Bethany returned, but there was a faint smile on her lips.

"I believe fingers in my intestines is... _ungh..._ is part of my business," she argued feebly. She turned her gaze back to Cullen; the slightly milky sheen to them was beginning to fade. "I suppose we can get married now." When Cullen sputtered, she giggled only long enough to fall into another coughing fit.

"Stay still!" the other adult healer snapped.

"Sorry. Maker forbid a girl dies in her own way," Hawke laughed softly, eyes closing. "Remember when I thought you were going to ask me to marry you? But it was a necklace, not a band. Or a copper marigold medallion," she added with a snort.

"I remember," Cullen said, not paying any mind to her marigold talk. She was delirious; it probably meant nothing. "And you said you didn't even know my middle name."

She tried to nod, but her head was too heavy for her neck. "I guess you can ask me to marry you now. Might not make it to the wedding, but that just lets you off the hook if nothing else."

She continued to blather about weddings for a time, blinking blearily as she recounted Aveline's wedding. "You know, I didn't pay much attention to the wedding," she admitted in what she must have thought was an undertone. "I was too busy planning on how to seduce you."

Varric cleared his throat from over Cullen's shoulder, and Aveline let out a slightly disgusted noise. The templars still alive, looking on in confusion, shifted uncomfortably. "The others can hear you, Hawke," Cullen informed her in case the others hadn't made it clear.

"I don't care," she laughed. "I am in the process of dying, Cullen. Let them know what a lecher I am."

"You are not dying, not yet," Bethany interjected sharply. "Devin, run and get some elfroot and bindings. Quickly, now!" Once the boy had scampered away, Bethany brushed a bloody hand across Hawke's forehead, leaving a long streak of crimson. "You listen to me, Sister. We have done all we can, but we need to get you to stronger healers. And we need to get out of Kirkwall. Quickly," she added, glancing up at Cullen. "I assume you will let us all leave without trouble?"

"Of course," he said quickly. "Anything you need. I can have horses-"

"Yes, we will need horses. And a cart for Hawke. Food for a week's journey, as many healing potions as you might be able to spare, and blankets."

"Yes, of course." He turned his head and pointed out three men. "You three, get the items and the horses. Have it ready at the gate as soon as possible." He turned his gaze back to Bethany. "Where shall you go?"

She looked between all of them anxiously, worrying her lower lip. "I... I do not know. I do not know if we should say."

"I have a place I told Hawke I'd take her," Varric interrupted, coming to sit across from Cullen. Varric gave him a heavy look before reaching down to hold Hawke's free hand. It was so pale. She had lost so much blood. "You ready for some good ale, Hawke?"

She hummed faintly. "Ale sounds good. Maybe some whiskey. Or even wine. I'd take anything right now."

Cullen nodded. Tantervale. They would go to Tantervale. He leaned down, kissing Hawke's bloody lips, pulling her up into a tight hug. He only stopped when Hawke let out a small squeak of protest. "Oh Maker," she wheezed, "I am going to be rent in two!"

Cullen laid her back into his lap, trying not to smile at her playful tone. "I will try to join you when I can."

"I know," she replied softly. "If I make it, anyway."

"You always do," Cullen and Bethany said in unison.

Hawke chuckled, tucking her face against the cold metal of Cullen's armor. Devin had returned with the herbs and bindings, which Bethany made quick work of placing on Hawke's wounds. "We should go, quickly," Bethany said when she finished, looking as if she might faint from the efforts.

Hawke stirred, head turning toward her sister. "Well, get me to the gates and let us ride into the sunset."

"Not much of a sunset," Varric chimed in, "but maybe we can pretend."

"You're good at pretending, Dwarf," Hawke laughed.

Cullen hoisted her into his arms, and she shouted in pain, one hand weakly raising to the angry red gash that was just barely contained by the white wrap. "Piss," she hissed. "Oh, I think my guts have become sentient."

"You will be fine," Cullen assured her, hoping he was right.

They made it to the gate with little trouble. Most of the mages had fled, and the templars had lowered their swords, their ringleader now dead. The horses and cart were ready, the saddlebags bursting to the brim with food and healing decoctions.

"So," she whispered sleepily, "this is it."

"This is not it," Cullen argued gently as he settled her into the cart. "I will find you once things settle here. I promise."

"Not if I find you first," she returned with her sloppy grin.

Cullen kissed her again, one last time, placing a hand to her frantically beating heart. "This is not the end."

She nodded faintly, wincing as she did. "I guess... I guess I will see you later, then."

"Later," he confirmed, feeling dread creeping into his heart. He hoped he was right. _This cannot be the end. This_ _cannot all have been for nothing._


	8. Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
> 
>  
> 
> **Chapter Warnings: So much fluff. So many feelings. Smut. Final Chapter!**
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter's inspiration was originally ["American Girl," by Tom Petty.](https://open.spotify.com/track/7MRyJPksH3G2cXHN8UKYzP) It ended up going to ["Closer," by the Chainsmokers and Halsey.](https://open.spotify.com/track/7BKLCZ1jbUBVqRi2FVlTVw) Please enjoy!

* * *

 

 

 **Autumn, 9:41 Dragon**  
**Cullen Rutherford**

The nights had gotten too cold for Cullen to continue sleeping above his office. He supposed he could have asked for a patch to his roof, but there was something beautiful about the gaping hole staring into the heavens. It might not be quite so lovely in winter when the snows fell from the sky and whipped in on the wind. Even so, Cullen appreciated the view from it, as well as how the cold focused his mind when it was most muddled.

There was also something elegant about his new spire room high up in the Eastern Tower of the Keep. The bedroom allowed him to feel blessedly alone. Blessedly able to come undone. No one barged into his new chamber without knocking. None of the soldiers ever ventured up the winding steps to rouse him for pointless, mundane things. He was truly alone, which was a blessing and a curse.

The withdrawals had been severe since the first night he abstained from lyrium, but they seemed to be getting worse with each passing evening. Cullen would close his eyes, a pillow clutched to his chest and awake mere minutes later in a panic. He would think the pillow was her, was Hawke, and that she was dead, bleeding in his arms. He would imagine it was Hawke and that she was whole and waiting for him, alive and well. But it would never be her.

 _I am losing my_ _mind,_ he had told the Seeker, hoping she would take pity on him and end his service. He would return to Kirkwall, maybe Tantervale, and give in to the insanity. He would become what Samson once was - a hollow, skeletal beggar. Out of his mind. Alone.

But Cassandra would not hear any of his words. _You shall be fine, Commander,_ she would say in that firm but gentle way of hers. _You are not beyond help yet. Now, go see to your charges. The Inquisitor needs them ready for the Winter Palace._

And so he stayed, grappling with insomnia and loss of appetite. He trained too frequently, too often, and his body was beginning to show the signs of it - muscle growth and tendon pulls, added strength and listless weakness through the night. He had been surprised when he was able to lift his sword during the unannounced attack on Haven.

 _Maker's balls, Cullen, practice some moderation!_ Inquisitor Edric Cadash had exclaimed when he noticed Cullen rubbing his shoulder after training one morning, trying to work out the tense kinks. The sparring area in Skyhold, usually occupied by the Iron Bull and Cassandra, belonged to Cullen for three hours early each morning - much to the annoyance of anyone sleeping within hearing distance. But it was his only outlet, his only way to fight the demons back.

He had no time to train on the day of the Winter Palace ball, forced instead into his Inquisition tunic and breeches. He tugged uselessly at the too-tight sleeves and tried to breathe past the restricted chest. "Did we not have this custom-fitted?" he asked the tailor who was trying to let out the arm quickly before the first bell.

"We did, monsieur, but it seems you have thickened in the time between your measurements and now," he added sternly, sewing the sleeve back together with the cloth insert. "Perhaps if the Commander listened to our advice and did not gain so much mass...."

Cullen sighed and stared into the mirror before him. He had filled out over the years, which was a pleasant surprise. With all of the lyrium Cullen had been taking toward the end of his time in Kirkwall, he was sure he was going to waste away. If nothing else, he was a bit more pleasing to the eyes now.

Not that he wished to be, here of all places. Halamshiral. The Winter Palace. He would be surrounded by fawning women all night, watching Cadash schmoozing his way through the throngs and possibly stealing a dance with the besotted Seeker. He would see Leliana playing the Game flawlessly, and he knew it would concern him more than it should. There was always Josephine. Perhaps Josephine could keep him distracted for a time.

The first bell tolled just as the tailor finished his other sleeve, the man tutting. "I can do nothing about the fit around your chest, unfortunately. Perhaps during the next recess."

"I am afraid I will be in the ballroom all night, disaster notwithstanding," Cullen sighed. He thanked the man and made his way toward the ballroom. He met Varric along the way, the dwarf looking unusually chipper and uncomfortable at the same time.

"What has happened?" Cullen asked, already preparing for the worst.

"What? Oh, nothing," Varric chuckled, rubbing his hands together as if he was cold. "I am just excited to see how the night shapes out. So much surprise and intrigue at these things. Long lost love, too - it might make a good sequel."

Cullen's brow furrowed. "I feel as though I need a codex to understand you, dwarf."

"Ah, well, that's fine. We can't all be sharp of intellect and wit." Varric winked and hurried ahead, catching up to Leliana. Their whispers were soft, but Leliana's tinkling bell laughter made Cullen think they were discussing a pair of ostentatious slippers a noble nearby was wearing.

Cullen did his best to remain collected as they were announced and paraded about the room. He did his best to breathe through the clouds of perfume surrounding him as lovely women - and a persistent man - bombarded him when he finally found a corner to plant himself in. He tried to be polite as he declined each dance, but his nerves became shot after the first half hour, and his tone was getting increasingly curt.

He wasn't sure what made him look up when he did. The ballroom doors had not opened for a time, but they pushed apart quickly. A woman slid through, her dress a startling crimson with golden brocaded flowers sweeping along the short train. She glanced around the room, her choppy hair falling in onyx wisps around her milky face and ruby lips.

"No," Cullen uttered sharply, startling the women around him. He pushed through the crowd and stumbled toward the railing looking down onto the dance floor. The woman was slowly descending it, the bauble around her neck glinting in the blinding light.

"Now presenting Lady Marian Hawke, former Champion of Kirkwall and current liaison to the Inquisition."

Cullen was shaking as he made his way to the other end of the ballroom. He waited until she had finished speaking with the Empress. He waited until she turned to the stairs leading to the upper balcony. He waited until she turned to _him._

Her eyes met his, and she nearly tripped on the bottom step. Her lips twisted into a wry smile and she began to ascend the stairs, so slowly that Cullen growled in frustration. He didn't care that those around watched them with curiosity - when she was close enough to reach, he grabbed her arms and dragged her up to him, holding her close.

She smelled like flowers. Cullen hated when she smelled like flowers because it meant she didn't smell like him. The old waves of possessiveness overtook him as he held her, his face buried into the crook of her neck, the cold silver of her necklace biting into his lower lip.

"Where have you been?" he breathed into her skin. His arms refused to unravel from her waist. "I looked for you in Tantervale. I waited for you."

She pulled back slightly, her smile impish. "My, my, Knight-Commander. I didn't know you cared."

He knew his cheeks were flushing with annoyance, but he couldn't force himself to be mad at her. She was there, she was real, and she still had his pendant around her throat. "Just Commander now. It is chilling to see you are still intolerable," he said finally, unable to muster the heat he once could.

Her smile widened, and she took his hand in hers, tugging him toward a balcony. "We should talk in private."

Cullen wanted nothing more, but his sense of duty made him draw her back to him. "We are here on a mission. I cannot explain-"

"I know," she interrupted swiftly. "Of course, I'm sorry. Leliana and Varric informed me when I arrived. I was too excited to remember, I suppose."

"Leliana and-" Cullen's face blanched. The damned dwarf knew she was here and purposely failed the warn Cullen. That was why he had been so cagey.

Hawke giggled softly, squeezing his hand. "I am going to admire all of this finery, perhaps have a few drinks, and hopefully not fall into some noble's bed along the way." She winked before he could sputter and added, "Come find me when you are done saving the Empire."

He watched her walk away and could barely catch his breath. She was here, she was real, and she was still wearing his pendant.

 

* * *

 

The Duchess dead, the Duke in chains, and the Empress saved and reunited with her elven lover - it had been a productive evening. Even so, Cullen was distracted from the speeches and celebratory dances. He barely noticed when Leliana slipped a key into his hand, whispering, "The Royal Wing. Perhaps you and your friend might like a private look inside? Last I saw, she was planning mischief in the vestibule."

Cullen wasn't sure what their spymaster had in mind, but he took the key gratefully, watching as Leliana slipped away. The Nightengale sidled up beside Cadash and their new arcane advisor, Morrigan, the spy's face a careful neutral as they spoke. Cullen wondered what the story between the two was - he could have asked, he supposed, but he slipped out of the ballroom and into the vestibule. 

He finally found the object of his search leaving a clearly marked door - _Vault. No entry._ "Hawke," he grunted, making her jump and flash a sneaky grin at him.

"I can't help it if these dolts use subpar locks," she tried to defend herself, deftly slipping a pair of silver rings onto her fingers. One fit nicely on her second to last - the other one just barely fit her thumb, loose and threatening to fall off at any moment. "They have some amazing trophies in there - animals I've never even seen! We should travel more, you know? Once all of this is over. I thought the Anderfels could be nice. Not this time of year! Maker, could you imagine-"

Cullen grabbed her waist and pulled her into him, the large hoop of her skirt smashing into his legs. Her lips were eager and soft under his, warmer than he remembered, and tasted like berry wine. Her supple body molded into his as best as it could, given her unwieldy skirt, and Cullen found himself groaning in annoyance. "You need to lose this dress forever."

"Oh? I thought you might like it. I picked it out with you in mind," she whispered against his mouth.

"I would like it better ripped and on my floor," he snipped, biting her lower lip and making her moan.

"How about the floor right here?" she breathed. "Down there in front of all of those paintings of disapproving prudes?" She chuckled, and one of her hands slid down Cullen's body to the bulge growing between his legs. "My, Commander, you seem to have forgotten to turn over your sword."

"Your jokes are just as terrible as ever," he snorted, face lowering to her neck, nipping sharply and drawing soft pants from Hawke.

"You love them." she chuckled, hand sliding to the left to follow Cullen's growing erection. She stopped suddenly, gripping something in his pocket. "What have we here?"

"A key," he mumbled, trailing his lips over her collarbone.

"A key to where?" she pressed with a giggle.

"The Royal Wing," he muttered, already regretting it.

She reacted as he expected - a squeal of delight and her hand sliding into the pocket of his breeches, grabbing the key and darting toward the door leading to the veranda. "Let's go!"

"You don't even know where the Royal Wing is," Cullen muttered. He was disgusted to realize he was sulking - but it was their first moment together in years, and she was more excited about seeing where the Empress slept?

His eyes widened. _Where the Empress slept._ Of course. Hawke wanted to fuck on the Empress' bed. He wasn't sure how he hadn't connected the dots earlier. Hawke was hardly the type to fawn over royalty; she was the type to delight in an erotic moment that could quickly lead to their imprisonment or death.

Cullen couldn't help the smirk that stretched over his face. He took her hand and led her toward the Servants' Quarters, whispering, "Keep quiet, or you won't get a proper homecoming gift."

"You keep quiet," she teased, nearly skipping through the kitchen and into the Royal Garden.

It only took them a few minutes to find the Empress' quarters, opened and unlocked for some strange reason. The decadence made Cullen's teeth ache. "Is it possible for velvet trappings to be trapped in more velvet?" Hawke breathed, running a hand over the duvet. "Andraste's tits, it hurts how soft this is."

Cullen was distracted from the regalia, luckily, by Hawke. The back of her dress was cut low, giving an uninterrupted view of her slender neck and muscle-toned upper back. He stepped toward her and lowered his mouth along the divot of her spine, loving how she arched and sighed in contentment.

It wasn't enough, though; it was never enough. Cullen wanted more of her. He turned her toward him but found her head resisting the motion. Her eyes fixed over her shoulder, mouth turning up at the corners. "Cullen," she said suddenly. The protest on Cullen's lips died immediately at her tone. "Do you remember where I fucked you in Meredith's office?"

"On the desk." His cock was hardening again at the memory. At the time, Hawke's actions had enraged him; how she had forced herself on him with no regard to his station or their lives. In retrospect, it was one of his favorite memories. "On her desk."

"Tell me... what is more impressive? Having sex on the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall's desk? Or having sex on the Empress of Orlais' desk?"

Cullen followed her gaze to the white and gilded ornate table in the corner. His mouth was watering immediately. "I would guess the Empress of Orlais'."

Hawke hummed, turning her mischevious grin to him. "What say you, handsome? We tempt our status and lives once more?"

Cullen turned her around roughly, pushing her to lean down on the bed while his fingers ripped across her corset laces, untying them with a speed and vigor he hadn't felt in some time. His need was clogging his throat and, from the goading pants Hawke gave him, he assumed she felt the same.

It took too long to get her out of the dress and Cullen was sure he heard it snag, and possibly rip, at least four times. Even so, she was more than thrilled to step out of the dissected cloth, pushing her knickers down and pulling her breasts up and out of the top of her boning. Hawke hopped onto the desk, spreading her legs, giving him the same look that had driven him insane all of those years ago; that perfect mix of heat and amusement that only she seemed able to muster.

For a moment, Cullen could only stare at her, admiring her scar-mottled legs and toned arms, the way her long wisps of bangs slid over her face, casting her partially in shadow, and how her pale pink nipples hardened in the cool air and her arousal. His mouth opened but floundered, unsure what he wanted to say.

Hawke's expression softened, and she stretched her arms out to him, beckoning. "It's cold," she murmured. "Come warm me up."

Cullen went to her, as he always did. He struggled to get his tunic off, careful not to rip it open at the fresh stitches, and stepped out of his breeches. He had no time to slide his smallclothes off before he was in front of Hawke, sidled between her thighs, and her hands were caressing their way down his chest. Hawke tweaked his nipples before her fingernails gently raked over his abdomen, making him jolt and groan. "You are looking much healthier than when we spoke last," she whispered against his neck, kissing his beating jugular. "I am pleased to see it."

"I... I quit the lyrium," he gasped as her fingers slid down to his smalls. She pushed them down his thighs, a hand lovingly wrapping around his cock and rubbing him. Her other hand caressed the back of his neck, drawing him in. Her lips on his again made him forget everything that had happened in their time apart - the drunken nights alone as Knight-Commander, hating himself and his job and the city itself. His almost-tryst with Norah in the Hanged Man, just to feel something. His horror at seeing Samson again, seeing what could have easily befallen Cullen himself had he not been a stronger man.

It was all gone. All Cullen could feel was Hawke in his arms, every inch of her skin that he could touch so soft and oil-scented, each ridge of scar smooth under his fingers. Cullen pulled Hawke forward on the desk abruptly, and she gasped, legs wrapping around his waist while she maneuvered him into position between her legs. With a single thrust of his hips, he was inside of her, her wet passage clinging tightly to him, muscles tightening and restricting. Cullen let out an involuntary grunt, mouth descending to her neck, breath puffing out of him as he quivered inside of her. It had been so long as she felt so good.

"Alright, Commander?" she breathed into his hair.

"A moment, Champion," he wheezed, hating himself for being so obviously undone. Not seeming to hear him, she began to rock her hips into him, and Cullen hissed. "Hawke!" he snapped, feeling his need sweeping up around him. "Marian," he tried desperately, relieved when she stilled around him. Cullen pulled his face off of her clavicle to meet her gaze, which was glinting mischievously.

"Good to see I still hold your reigns," Hawke teased gently. "I was beginning to worry that I would show up and meet a plucky young blonde who calls herself Lady Cullen Stanton Rutherford."

Cullen couldn't help the chuckle that slipped past his lips. It was a strange sound, one he hadn't heard in a very long time. Hawke, too, seemed startled by it and Cullen took her moment of distraction to pull out of her and shove back in, knocking her back against the desk. Hawke arched against him, groaning, and Cullen covered her mouth with his hand sharply, her eyes widening at the suddenness of it.

"You need to be quiet," he hissed, speeding up his pace between her legs, leaning heavily on his free hand that braced against the wood by her hip.

She bit his palm, and he pulled back, alarmed, and found himself greeted with her smirk. "Try to make me, Rutherford."

Cullen grabbed one of her legs and pulled it up between their bodies, enthralled again at her sheer flexibility. He leaned into her leg and angled himself so that he was able to pound himself inside of her. He relished each cry that slipped from her mouth, her ecstasy spilling out loudly and frequently. She, too, had denied herself, it seemed.

Cullen reached between their bodies and found Hawke's molten clitoris with a bit of repositioning. He pressed his thumb pad into it, their motions rubbing him against her sharply. Hawke tried to bite her lower lip, to her credit; she tried to keep quiet. But Cullen saw her release swirling around her, tensing her body, and he pressed a bit harder, angled himself a bit more, and Hawke yelped as she came, body shuddering and smacking the desk against the wall harder.

Her shout had almost drowned out the noise of the desk beneath them creaking in protest. Cullen stilled, tense, securing Hawke to him in case the wood gave out below them. It held up, for that moment, but Hawke seemed concerned enough that she shakily whispered, "What is more impressive? Fucking on the Empress of Orlais' desk, or her bed?"

Cullen didn't bother answering. Hawke's inclined leg lowered to his waist, and he hoisted her up by her muscled thighs and practically tossed her down onto the bed. He dropped himself on top of her and wasted no time bumping his way inside of her. Cullen slammed into her with gusto, loving how her chest, neck, and cheeks were dark with her flush, how her breath pushed between her parted lips, and how her eyelids fluttered, unfocused blue eyes trained on his amber ones.

He slowed down suddenly, wrapping his arms under her shoulder blades and bringing her closer, their chests pressed together. He thrust slowly, eliciting soft moans from Hawke as he did. Her body rose to his without provocation, her mouth scraping against his roughly and deeply.

"I have missed you," he admitted, not meaning to but unable to help himself. Without the lyrium in his veins, Cullen found himself much less the man Hawke had appreciated in the past. He was gentler now.

But to his surprise, Hawke didn't look at him strangely, and she didn't seem bothered by his sentimentality. She pulled him closer, lips suddenly tender, and whispered, "I have missed you, too, Rutherford. But this doesn't mean we don't hate each other, right?"

Cullen snorted and kissed his way down her jaw and to her sternum. "You are insufferable."

"I think the word you're looking for is incorrigible," she teased, hooking a leg around his ass and pulling him in, making him thrust in harder as she arched her back. "Perhaps even bewitching."

He covered her mouth with his hand to shut her up, focusing on feeling her move below him, on her hot breath against his palm. Cullen released his hold as he felt himself drawing closer to his release, eyes meeting hers. "I...." He wasn't sure what he wanted to say - that he loved her, perhaps. Or maybe that he had thought of her every day, hoping she was okay wherever it was she lingered. That he had missed her. That he still could not look at other women, not after how she had charmed him. Bewitched him.

Hawke pressed a finger to his lips. "I know. The feeling is mutual."

He came, the force of it making his teeth clench painfully as he moaned her name. Her fingers smoothed through his hair as he landed on her wearily. His mind was a blank until he realized that she was breathing in quick, rapid puffs of breath, being crushed by his sizable bulk. "Maker, Hawke, you should have said something," he chided, pushing himself off of her and watching her reddened face gasp for breath.

"I was fine you worrywart," she returned, chuckling as she slowly sat up. They stared at one another for a few moments before Hawke's cheeks flushed again and she glanced around them, uncomfortable. "We should probably go," she murmured, sliding off of the bed and stepping into the carcass of her ballgown. She struggled into the dense, brocaded fabric and Cullen dressed swiftly before helping her with the corset. She didn't look nearly as put together as she had before he'd savaged the dress, but it was presentable enough to get her back to his room.

Hawke straightened the desk and the covers on the bed before pausing, her lips curving up at the corners. "Hopefully the Empress won't be too concerned with a large white stain on her lovely duvet."

Cullen snorted and took Hawke's hand, leading her out of the room, which he was still stunned had been unlocked, and into the hallway.

They were accosted almost immediately by a stony-faced Dame heading their direction, her face darkening with each step. "What is the meaning of this? Where have you come from?"

Hawke tittered, leaning on Cullen heavily and giggling. "Oh, ser, thank goodness you're here! We have gotten woefully lost. I thought this was our Wing, but it appears-"

"The Guest Wing is in the main building," the knight snapped, glancing behind them to see in what mischief they could have engaged. 

Hawke tripped rather realistically into the Dame's arms, distracting her from her search. "Ser, apologies, I seem not to know the limit to my drinking. Might you, perhaps, show us back to our room?"

The knight, her flaming hair glinting in the torchlight, sighed heavily and handed Hawke off to Cullen. The woman's eyes lingered on Cullen for a beat more, hesitating on his broad chest before she cleared her throat, turning quickly. "Fereldens," she muttered. "Hurry, I will not abide by sightseeing."

"You are too good at manipulating people, _Madame_ Hawke," Cullen teased her in an undertone as they followed, Hawke occasionally giggling to keep up her appearance of drunken nobility.

"And you, _Monsieur_ Rutherford, are too good at making women swoon over you," she returned softly, smirking at the back of the Dame's head. "You saved me from a jail cell, you know. She might have asked you to bend her over the Empress' bed if I were not here."

"Perhaps I should be rewarded for such a service," he murmured, hand tightening around hers. "Being your handsome protector, such as I am."

"Perhaps," she chuckled, leaning against him. "What might the monsieur like as payment?"

"One of your ill-gotten gains," he murmured, sliding the loose ring on her thumb off of the digit.

She chuckled, but there was a tinge of something to her voice. Unease, perhaps. "Why, Commander, you stun me. I never took you for the jewelry kind."

"I am not, not unless it has a meaning." He turned the ring over in his hand before murmuring, "What is your middle name, Hawke?"

She was quiet for a time before smiling. "Mara. It is a family name; an aunt I never met if I recall correctly."

He blinked before smirking, unable to hold it back. "Marian Mara Hawke?"

"Shut it," she chuckled helplessly.

"Quite a mouthful."

"You're quite a mouthful."

The pair dissolved into laughter than Cullen was sure made the Dame's shoulders tighten further. He couldn't remember laughing this much in his entire life. Especially not since the Breach.

Cullen slid the ring onto his left hand, and Hawke snorted. "Planning on asking me to marry you now, Cullen Stanton Rutherford?"

"Hardly," Cullen said even though they both knew the significance he placed in the action. "I hate you, remember?"

"Ah, yes, that does complicate things, doesn't it?"

They followed the knight in silence, wrapped up in one another, not bothering to think of the future hurdles. The demon army they would have to face eventually. The Grey Wardens. Corypheus.

Cullen pulled her into his side, pressing a kiss to her temple. No matter what befell them, there was no chance he was losing her again. He would be by Hawke's side until the bitter end.


End file.
